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I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ! 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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ORIGINAL POEMS 



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Bctsev Ann Smith Roberts. 



'ATCHOGUE, NHW YORK, 



SECOND EDITION, 
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'AICHOt.ri-; ADVANCE I'RINT 



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Entered according to Act of Centres?, in the year 1894, by 

Ketsey Ann Smith Roberts. 

In the (iftice of the Librarian of Cor.grei^s, at 

Washington. 



Tci the Memory of my Father and Mother. 
Micah and Betsey Newey Smith, who, while 
living, set a good example for their children by 
their untiring industry, frugality, temperance 
and d simple trust in a Divine Providence; dying 
they left an untarnished name. May their souls 
rest in peace. 



CONTENPS. 

-vaca:. 

A Memorial to My Mother. - 9 

iVunt Amelia and I. - - - iH 

A Prayer, - - - - 47 

A Tribute to Florence J. Baker. - 48 

An Old Man's Soliloquoy. - - 74 

A Prayer on Going- to Sea. - - 76 

A Poor Man. - - - - 84 

A Tribute to Mrs. Dyson. - - 86 

A Reproof from the Grave of J. T. - 91 

An Epitaph. . . . . 86 

A Hymn. - - - -114 

A Hymn. - - - - 117 

Aunt Margueritte Hutchinson. - - 118 

A Valentine. - - - - 124 

A Sinner's Confession. - - - 124 

A Poor Christian. - -" - 135 

An Old Hen, - - - - 154 

x\n Experience. - - - 157 

An Orphan's Prayer. - - - 168 

A Soliloquy, - - -170 

Bevis. - • - - 13 

Be Consistent. - - -88 

Broken Idol. - - - 121 

Child of Sorrow. - - -111 

Cupid. - - - . 1/^5 

Dorset Boy. - - - 49 

Deacon Moore. - - - 61 
Dedicated to the Widow of Nelson Smith. 164 

Epitaph. - - - 86 

Eyes. - - - - I 1 3 

Father's Request. - - 159 

Get Behind Me Sa'.an. - - - 4 

(jold. - - - - 90 

God is (xreat. ]\Ian is .Sniall, - - 93 

Gentle Katrina. - - 107 

Geranium. - - - 169 



CONTENTS, PAGE. 

Hymn. - 20 

Hannah's Faith. - - 110 

Hymn. - - 115 

Honest Tom. - - 116 

Happy Thou^^hts. - - 1 19 

Implicit Trust in Jesus. - 7 1 

judge not Dear Sphinx. - - n 

Jesus of Nazareth. - - 130 

Lines Accompanying Picture of Some Trout. 4 

Lines, - - 17 

Lines on the Death of "(Tpy." - 41 

Lines to Send With a Patchwork Quilt 45 
Little Horatio Smith's Address to his Father. 45 

Lines on Death of Little Raymond Hulse. 46 

Little Ruth. - ' - 60 

Lazarus to Temperance. - 68 

Lovely Eyes so Bright. • 126 
Lines on Receiving a Hamper of Choice 

Groceries, - - 149 
Lines Written on Receiving an Apron from 

a Friend. - 152 

My Two- Faced Friends. - - 5 

My Snuff Box. - - 12 

Mary A. and L - 19 

My Sister Gus. - - 22 

My Plea. - - - 23 

Memorial to Mrs. Charlotte Smith. - 56 

Man's Cruelty. - - -ji 

MyGod. - - 112 

My Cousin Kate. - - 118 

My Uncle Garrette. - 119 

My Old Homestead. - - 122 

Memorial to My Husband. - 133 

None Good. - - 172 

On a Visit to New York. - 43 

Patchogue Lane. - - i 



CONTENTS. PAGE 

Patchooiie. - - 139 
Rose \"an A . - -21 

Rules of Life. - 70 

Ruth. - - 108 

Sand, Ocean, vSnn, Mcjon. - 6 

Sarah Jane. - - 16 

Self Examination. - 47 

Stomach Ache. - - 109 

Spring. - - 129 

The Milk of Kindness. - - 14 

To Lynx. - - 38 

To Sphinx. - - 39 

The Widow's Lament. - - 68 

Temperance. - - y^) 

The Soliloquy of a Dying- Lifidel. - yy 

Truth in Rhyme. - - 80 
The Crusade", - -85 

Truth. - - 162 

Time. - - 89 

The Vortex. - - 95 

The Rich Christian and the Poor One. loi 

The Sinner's Friend. - - 127 

Tribute to My Brother, Brewster Smith. 132 

To the Clergy. - - 136 

The Rev. S. S. Hughson. - 147 

The Song of the Dishcloth. - 150 

The 96th Psalm. - - 156 
Tribute to Major and Mrs. Lawrence 

Hodson Thompson. - 174 
The Charter Members of the First Congre- 
gational Church of Patchogue-i 794 180 
Why?^ - - 7 
Widow Lyon's Memento. - - 11 
What an Old Horse Said. - 24 
What I am Weary of Seeing. - 36 
Written in His Album. - - 67 
Wanted. - - 79 
Written to Comfort my Cousin, Betsey M. 

Smith. - - 100 



I'ATCHO(]UK LANE. 

There is one lovely spot 
As yet unknown to fame; 
No stately pile in ruin lies 
At the foot of Patchogue Lane. 

The meadows are dressed in <jreen 
With many and various hues, 
And our noble Bay appears 
In blue, etheral blue. 

The road is level as a floor, 
The fields yield choicest grain ; 
As 3'et no word was ever penned 
In praise of Patchogue Lane. 

Our peerless Bay abounds 
With shellfish of all kinds; 
If other kinds are in the sea 
They are scarcely worth a rhyme. 

The Bay of Naples is rather fine. 
But meager in many a way. 
Poets that used to laud it 
Knew not of Patchogue Bay. 



POEMS 



If bigoted Neapolitans would come 

And survey our Bay, 

About the one they left at home, 

It is little they'd have to say. 

When on Vesuvius' lofty height, 

As I viewed the Alpine way, 

I thought the scene was not so grand. 

As from Watch Hill across our Bay. 

The fleetest yachts are brought 

To compete upon its waters; 

Gallants oft win silver cups 

And present them to Eve's fair daughters. 

Not Venice with all its splendor. 

And watery streets of fame, 

Could make me for one hour forget 

The foot of Patchogue Lane. 

Victor Emanuel's palace is grand. 

It is elaborate in every way ; 

But I had rather live in a clap-boarded houj 

On the margin of our Bay. 

Upon our enchanting strand 

Lovers while unheeded hours away, 

Whilst cupid, mischievous elf, 

Prompts each word they say. 

Beneath those spreading willows 

They plight their vows of constancy. 

Enraptured by the music of 

Our lovely inland .sea. 

Or in Maiden Lane they take a stroll : 

There Alanthes are towering high; 

Cupid hidden among their branches 

Lets love dipped arrows fly. 



POEMS 



Here rusty old maids and bachelors, 

Who have long laughed at cupid s darts. 

Succunil) with grace unequaled, 

And bestow their hands and hearts. 

Youngs land ')n the north, 

With its hills of Coram sand. 

Is hailed with joy by mariners 

When nearing Freedom's land. 

Those southern hills in the distance 

Are old Atlantic's bounds; 

It roars and breaks against them 

With an unceasing sound. 

Or. the east is Smith's promontory 

Studded heavily with Avood, 

And for generations past, 

Those grand old pines have stood. 

Blue Point on the west, 

Xoted for bivalves rare; 

A more enchanting spot can't be found 

In this world anywhere. 

Roman's idolize their Tiber 

But one peep at it made me sick. 

Swan River surpasses it every way. 

Save one — the mud is not .so thick. 

Our Cove is really beautiful. 

And when some man of brains 

Clears its noble mouth of mud. 

It will have a world of fame. 

No gin mill will desecrate the spot; 

I pray to God there never may. 

And those into oblivion go, 

That are one mile away. 



POEMS 



In years to come may Patchogue Lane 
And our beautiful Bay, 
Together up fame's ladder go. 
Amen ! Let all "Amen" say. 



LINES, ACCOMPANYING A PICTURE OF SOME TKOU T 
TO ONE WHO SENT ME A FRESH COD. 

Dear friend, do not take it amiss 

My sending you this mess of fish, 

Apprehensive that you were out, 

I waxed bold and send these trout. 

They are not as savory as the cod you gave, 

Rut are the very best I have. 

Like unto some folks I ween. 

They are not in reality what they seem. 

It is mete that a fisherman's spouse 

Should always have fish in the house; 

So hang them securely upon the wall 

And you will have fish once for all. 

I hope when the Deacon this picture scans 

He will approve of this quaint little plan. 

Patchogue, Jan. 20, 1879. 



GET BEHIND ME SATAN 

When temptations dire 
Set heart and brain on lire. 
Overwhelming every good desire, 
Say, "get behind me Satan." 
When all the powers of hell conjoint 
And bear heavily on thy weakest point, 
Whispering "joys of heaven will disappoint, 
Say, "get behind me Satan." 



POEMS 



When wicked thong-bts too base for speech 
And thy vile heart yearns to greet, 
Then kneel and clasp the Saviour's feet. 
Saying, "get behind me Satan." 
When thy power is almost gone 
Then pray for help to the eternal one: 
Believe, and deliverance is sure to come. 
And thou wilt sing the conquerors song. 
Shouting, "get behind me Satan." 

Patchogue, Aug. 8th, 1880. 

MV TWO-FACED FRIKNDS. 

To-day if I were crowned a King, 

Mv two faced friends would sweetly sing, 

"Thou art worthy to be our King," 

And choice gifts to my feet they'd bring, 

Shouting, "long live our King." 

To-morrow if I were doomed to die, 

Not one of them would inquire why, 

But, "hang the wretch ' would be their crv, 

"No tears for him shall dim our eye," 

"Its time he was dead, swing him high.' 

Patchogue, June 2d, 1S73. 



Is there not some spot on this wide earth 

Where peace and quiet reigns ; 

Where men will not receive a bribe 

For a little earthly gain ? 

Where gold is not all men's theme. 

Where deceit and falsehood are unknown. 

And all say what they mean? 



6 POEMS. 

Where quarrels do not arise, 
Where all are striving- with a will 
To gain the heavenly prize? 

Where the poor are not oppressed. 

Where the rich do not, by deed, word or look, 

Pour gall into wounded breasts? 

Where hatred dies imcherished, 
Where coals of strife remain unfanned 
And all are in love immersed? 

Patchogue, April 4th, 1873. 



•SAND, OCEAN, SUN, MOON. 

When God formed the mighty oceans 

He bade them roar and keep in motion. 

LTnto them he said, 

"Here let thy proud wave be stayed." 

They never yet have sought their ease, 

But unceasingly roll, their Creator to please. 

He bade the earth to yield its increase 
For the sustenance of man and beast. 
It has never disobeyed the divine command. 
But brings forth its fruit on every hand. 

He made the sun and bade it shine 
For this heretofore dark, gloomy earth. 
Most gloriously at his bidding, 
Its wondrous light shone forth. 
It commenced its unremitting task 
xVnd for rest has never asked. 



POEMS 



He made the chang-ini^- moon, 

J'roud empress of the nij^hl ! 

And unto it he said, "Th}- mission is to 

Illumine and while away the dreariness of night. 

It ehanges, fulls, and wanes from year to year, 

Obeys God and has nothinir to fear. 



Whv do I toil and strive 

To house the things of time and sense 

As I know not the day or hour 

I may be summoned henee? 

Whv are mv thoughts and time employed 

In gathering earth's deluding dross, 

When I may win an immortal erown 

By taking up the eross? 

Why am I so thoughtless 

Abotit my eternal weal ? 

Here moth and worms my stores corrupt 

And thieves break through and steal. 

My life is but a span, 

The years fly swiftly by; 

I, that only mortal am, 

Must .soon pay natures debt and die. 



POEMS. 



BE TRUE. 



This world is but a vapory dream, 

So few are in reality what they seem. 

Scores of friends will by you stand 

If prosperity waves her g-littering wand. 

When your cash is getting- low, 

Lovers and friends will from you go. 

It would be a miracle if one of prosperty's crew 

Should loan or give one dollar to you. 

When a false friend deals a wound 

No earthly cure can be found. 

Frienaship is of such fine thread 

Once broken it cannot be wed. 

All other breaches can be mended, 

Friendship, betrayed it is ended. 

You may try to forget and forgive. 

Full confidence wont grow again while you live. 

Do not be so conceited or unwise. 

That you cannot an open enemy respect and prize. 

He will not stab you in the dark, 

Nor veil in smiles an arrow to pierce your heart. 

When you are down he will not strike, 

But permit you to rise and resume the fight. 

An open enemy may give you a scathing look. 

And his words may be sharp as a pruning hook; 

l^ut you can trust him wherever it be, 

He will not deal treacherously even with thee. 

A false friend like ivy will surely cling. 

They are heartless in whatever they do, 

They feel no regrets to drop an old friend for a new. 



POEMS. 



A MEMORIAL TO MY MOTHER, 
HETSEY NEWEV SMITH. 

Oft sitting- alone at twilight, 

I sadly think and say, 

How very dreary and lonesome home is 

Since Mother passed away. 

Her step was light, her voice'low. 

She had a smile for all where ere she'd go. 

In pleasant ways she did abound. 

And gave kind words to all around. 

In childhood she would with me play. 

And wipe my little tears away. 

She shared my joys and for my griefs 

She very quickly found relief. 

vShe was my best, my truest friend, 

Faithful and loving- to the end ; 

So gently would she chide 

And all my follies strive to hide. 

When her days work was done 

She would to her room repair 

And, casting- aside all worldly thoughts. 

Pour forth a fervent contrite prayer. 

As 1 knelt there beside her, 

I thought her grief was wild, 

For with many groans and tears she would say, 

'•Father guard my little child." 

The pathos of her prayers 

I could not understand. 

With her hand upon my head, 

"Oh take, oh take my child," she said. 

Now I know the cause 



10 POEMS 



Of mother's prayers and tears, 

For she was giving me to God 

Whilst in my tender years. 

When I in foreign elimes did roam, 

I would think about my good old home. 

In fancy I've seen my mother smile, 

And her lips move in prayer 

For her absent child : 

And from across the ocean's foam 

A letter came to hand. 

How eagerly I its contents read, 

To learn what dear mother said ! 

And when again I returned, 

How quick my voice she knew. 

Whilst tears of joy ran down her cheeks 

Exclaiming, "Thank Heaven, my child I view?" 

You say that I look dejected. 

And gloom o'erspreads my brow : 

Alas, the light of my home's been extinguished, 

There's no mother to greet me now. 

Nothing could equal or excel 

My mother's love for me — 

Nothing but God's love 

For lost humanity. 

Shall I no more her voice hear 

So gently fall upon my ear? 

No mother now to share my joy or grief, 

To whom shall I go to find relief? 

To view her portrait on the wall 

Does bitter tears create ; 

My heart it burns and throbs, 



POEMS . 11 



Its tenderest chords vibrate. 

As I oaze upon her face, 

A halo seems to round it hover; 

I feel as if my heart must break 

For my departed mother. 

Her last kiss pressed upon my brow ; 

Alethinks I feel its pressure now. 

The saddest of all thoughts to me 

Is I shall not here again my mother see. 

In the village church Vcird lies 

The form of my dear mother ; 

Her body lies mouldering in the ground 

But angels around it hover. 

Patchogue, June 2d, 1SS7. 



WIDOW LYON S MEMENTO. 

How could you break that cane? 
Desist, you must not laugh ; 
It belonged to the man I loved 
And he called me his better half. 
That dear old can^, it was not much 
To any one but me. 
Often when I have viewed it o'er. 
How near my Henry seemed to be. 
That dear old cane is gone 
My loved memento of the past, 
And soon I too must go : 
Alas all flesh is grass. 

Patchogue, Sept. 2gth, 1888. 



12 POEMS 



MY SNUFF ROX. 

My dear old box I love it, 

It often has stayed my tears. 

I'll love it though I am heralded 

With many scoffs and jeers. 

It never gets the blues, 

And vents its spleen at me. 

It is the most companionable friend I have. 

That is self evident I see. 

Oftentimes this dear old box 

Has given me relief, 

And when it has me a kindness done. 

It don't fling it in my teeth. 

When I am overburdened 

With unwonted grief or care, 

How often then it solaces me 

In trying them to bear. 

It never my character trys to stain, 

By calling me unappropriate names: 

Nor does it scold or lecture me, 

If I happen to be out until one, two or three. 

I will not my dear old box desert, 

That succors me in distress. 

I care not what outsiders say, 

I will my box caress. 

Patchogue, Dec. 12th, 1870. 



POEMS.. 13 



BEVIS. 

Bevis, though a dog she be, 

A useful lesson teaches me. 

Sighs not for gold or worldly show. 

Often her meek submission shows, 

By kissing the hand whence comes the blows, 

I hope, that when affliction comes on me. 

That I may act as wise as she. 

vShe is true and faithful to a letter; 

I wish that I could imitate her better. 

Her greetings are always kind and free ; 

She loathes cold cordiality. 

It is not in her heart to put on airs. 

Should my apparel be worn threadbare. 

She is far above bribes or gold. 

Her love cannot be bought and sold. 

Were I blind, halt or lame, 

She would love me just the same. 

She eats with gratitude what to her is thrown ; 

She envys not the pope of Rome ; 

She don't get jealous and raise her ire, 

Because the Emperor of Russia owns a large empire 

Should stern poverty be my lot, 

There is one that will prove true — 

My faithful Bevis, that one is you. 

Bevis, though a dog she be, 

Answers the end she was made for better than me. 

Patchogne, Jan. 20th, 1879. 



14 POEMS 



THE MILK OF KINDNESS. 

Don't sour the milk of kindness, 

The mess is always too small ; 

And in the breast of some I fear 

It never flows at all. 

Don't let the milk of kindness sonr 

In vour selfish reservoir, 

When one sweet drop of it would fill 

The saddest heart with joy. 

If a poor man owes you a little debt, 

I3on't speak to him in a taunting" way 

Help him till he can help himself; 

In the long run it will pay. 

You and he were born, 

But as neither of you are buried yet. 

Suppose you let your kindness flow. 

And wait patiently for the debt. 

Should he never pay you. 

It wiU cheer your gloomy hours 

To think you did not oppress him, 

Although you had the power. 

You may be a humble suppliant, 

When he in a carriage rides, 

So keep the milk of kindne.ss sweet 

Whatever may betide. 

One pound of self-forgetfulness. 

Mixed with one of pure charity. 

Will cause the milk to gently flow. 

Try it my friends and see. 

Each act of kindness that vou do 



POEMS. 15 



Increases that mess of milk. 
And they are registered above 
In words of shining gilt. 

Patchogue, May ist. 1872. 



THKV HAVE AN AXE TO CRINI). 

Not one moment's quiet do I .see, 

Since I received that legacy. 

Folks that I scarcely knew by sight, 

Are dancing attendance here day and night. 

When I am on the street it is the same. 

Those I never heard of call me by name. 

Scrape, smile and bow so bland ; 

All smile and courtesy on every hand. 

Not a soul has said to me, 

Since I received that legacy. 

That I had no energy, 

Or was deficient in faculty. 

My meager words they say are wise. 

And laud my actions to the skies. 

The ladies too are loud in my praise, 

Declare I am the handsomest man of the age. 

I never before heard it hinted at any time 

That I was passable, but now I am divine. 

My table is crowded from day to day 

By those I have met in a casual way. 

For months I have not enjoyed a quiet meal ; 

I am bored to death — that's just how I feel. 

rilgive it out that I am near bankruptcy. 

Caused by going another's security. 



16 POEMS. 

T'will be a miracle wlien it is known, 

I ha\'e one friend to call m\' own. 
My windows on the street I'll smash, 
And with old hats I will till the sash. 
I'll break the chimney and unhinge the gate. 
And a show of general desolation make. 
These flatterers are not worth as man\- straws, 
And resemble wolves with empty maws. 
Kv daily experience I find 
They all have a new or an old axe to grind. 

Palchogue, April 14th, 1SS3. 



S.ARAII JANE. 

Oft, as I sit alone and think, 

My heart it beats with pain. 

For then my thoughts do wander l^ack 

To my loved Sarah Jane. 

Although thirty years have passed away 
I am still a love-sick swain. 
My love is of the deathless kind 
For my lovely Sarah Jane. 

She was all truth and modesty, 
And graceful in her mein ; 
I never have met the like of her. 
My charming Sarah Jane. 

Her eyes were black and piercing. 
They pierced my heart and brain ; 
The God above he only knows 
How I love Sarah Jane. 



POEMS. 17 



Her fi^^ure it was faultless; 

Venus she did outvie. 

1 should not have known she loved me, 

But for h<"r tell-tale eyes. 

But she was plighted to another, 

And soon in wedlocks banas were joined. 

He only received her hand, 

For Sarah's heai t was mine. 

Soon as I \ new that she was wed 

I crossed the briny main, 

x\nd, in Australia's sunny clime, 

I dream of Sarah Jane. 

My hair is getting gray, 

My life is on the wane, 

But still I love, I dearly love, 

My long loved Sarah Jane. 

And wilh my last expiring breath. 

When soul and body twain, 

I will pray that in heaven I may meet 

My long loved Sarah Jane. 

Patchogue, Aug. 2nd, 1S67. 

LINES. 

God is just, he alone is good and kind. 

There need not one be left behind. 

He is supreme, will save us all 

If we eschew evil and on him call. 

He will surely take us through ; 

All that is carnal he will subdue. 

Through him alone can we be saved ; 

He it is that lightens the pathway through the grave • 



18 POEMS 



AUNT AMEIJA AND I. 

I have one earthly friend, 
That don't find fault with me, 
Because my hair is not combed 
As slick as it can be ; 

Don't tell me I must dress with care 
Or I will never wed. 
She has a kind and noble heart; 
Her brains are in her head. 

She is blind to my faults, 
Hers I cannot see : 
Thus we together live 
In blissful unity. 

Our cats and dogs don't fight. 
As other people's do. 
For they imbibe our spirit 
And love each other to. 

vSummer's heat melts not our love, 
Winter's cold don't ice it : 
We always tell each other truth, 
Therefore don't have to splice it. 

Often we chat together 

Of loved ones that have passed away 

About what they used to do 

And what they used to say. 

And of that peaceful land, 
Where sorrow is unknown. 
And of the triumphant meeting, 
When all the saints get home. 



POEMS. 19 



She is my one-faced friend, 
She never wears a mask, 
Cover all my faults with charity; 
What more could I ask? 

Patchogue. August loth, 1866. 



MARY A. AND I. 



I hope that God will give you strength and grace 
To run with patience life's wearisome race, 
And when you reach yon happy home 
Bestow on you a new backbone. 

I hope that when he gives you a new backbone 
That he will not poor unworthy me disown ; 
But deign by his holy and righteous will 
This hole in my stomach to lessen or fill. 

I hope that he will cleanse us from all sin, 
So that the waters of life may spring within : 
And when freed from all earthly care and strife 
Permit us to eat bread from the tree of life. 



i^.*i*. 



20 POEMS 



I long for the morning break, 
When Jesus shall his saints awake, 
And they shall leave their dusty beds 
And rise triumphant with their head. 

His living saints he then will change. 
On Eden's plain they then will range. 
Yes. o'er those flowery fields they will glide, 
With loving Jesus by their side. 

Monev will not answer all things there. 

As it does here in this world of strife and care. 

Jesns, he will feed his own ; 

No partiality will there be showii. 

Tho e that here are oft in need 
Shall there on Heavenly manna feed. 
All the faithful there may eat 
And cast their crowms at Jesus' feet. 

We shall know no hunger, thirst or cold. 
For we will be safe within his fold ; 
And through eternal ages sing 
Hosannas to our Heavenly King. 



P E H S . 21 



KOSK VAN A. 

T am in love, I know I am, 

I never before felt this pain. 

Its little Rose that has me ensnared : 

She lives on Patehogue Lane. 

Her figure it is faultless. 
She is superb, divine : 
To her will I my homage pay, 
I'll worship at her shrine. 

Her hair is of the golden hue. 
Her eyes are hazel dark; 
If she will not return my love 
Then farewell this vital spark. 

Her smile is so enchanting. 
Her words are full of wit ; 
If she says -'no," when I propose, 
This world I am bound to quit. 

I don't believe she ever said — 

Its only gossips spleen — 

That she cares not three straws for me. 

Hut loves to drive mv team. 



2 2 POEMS 



M\' SIS'I'EK GUS. 

Wlien my health and cash were gone 
And I cursed the day that I was born, 
Who was it took me by the hand 
And said that she would by me stand? 
It was my sister Gus. 

When other friends had passed me by, 
And none of my wants would they supply 
Who was it cast a pitying eye 
And said that I must with her hie? 
It was my sister Gus. 

When ni}^ clothes had threadbare grown. 
Who was it gave me of her own, 
And said I should not homeless roam, 
And bade me call her house my home? 
It was my sister Gus. 

Who was it cut her loaf in twain 
And said that I must with her remain, 
And brought good teas and rarities. 
My poor appetite to appease? 
It was my sister Gus. 

Who spoke to me of better days 
And paid my bills in many ways, 
And said that she would with me share, 
And raised me up from deep despair? 
It was my sister Gus. 



POEMS. 23 



Not while m}- hand can wield the pen, 
Or my tongue laud a faithful friend ; 
Not until I am entombed in silent dust, 
Can I forget my sister (Vus. 
Time may forget its power and might 
On everything to cast a blight, 

But I never, never can forget 
The friend that never failed m" yet. 
My sister (tUs shall remembered be 
And all that she has done for me. 
May she immortalized become, 
And all that she for me has done. 

Patchogue, March i8, 1878. 



M\ l'I.E.\. 



Dear Lord, make the path of duty plain, 

To it my heart incline. 

May I perform each duty. 

And with a willing mind. 

Make the path of duty plain. 

Help me to keep in it. 

And may the light by which I work, 

Bv thine own hand be lit. 



24 POEM S 



WH*AT AN OLD HORSE SAID. 



The other day, Charlie seemed to be 

In a very deep soliloquy, 

And, as I was passing- that way, 

I thoug-ht I would listen to what he had to say. 

He said, "the reason he did not trot fast, 

Was because he could not forget the past ; 

And he never should live to be old, 

>\sto forget how dishonestly, he had been bought 

and sold. 
Ifad heard men tell hundreds of lies, 
And seen them bribe their hostler on the sly — 
And all for the sake of a dollar or two. 
Swear that white was black, or that green was blue ; 
He Slid that he feared not the grave. 
As he had not a soul to be lost or saved ; 
But he felt no pity for unscrupulous men, 
That would perjure their souls again and again ; 
Supposed that when he had finished his race. 
He would go to horse heaven if there was such a 

place. 
And allowed that he would die as easily, when he 

died. 
As the men who told such monstrous lies. 
Those men are sure of having a good fire, free, 
Whilst futurity has naught for me. 
I have felt thankful to God many a time, 
That I was not allied to mankind. 
He gave them intellect, and upright they stand ; 
Though made in His image, they break all His 

commands. 



POEMS. 25 



What God does, is done well ; 

But some men are determined to go to hell. 

They have worked me many a day, though I was 
poorly fed ; 

At night I had nothing but the cold earth for my 
bed. 

It mattered not how hard I worked. 

I was sure to receive the lash, kicks and ierks. 

Often had I to stand for hours out in the cold. 

While my master was inside a filthy rum-hole. 

I have been forced by ungodly men. 

To desecrate the Sabbath, again and again ; 

'Tis their delight to spend the day at some rendez- 
vous of sin. 

Where they can swear, drink rum and gin. 

Outside, I had to stand, tied to an old dry tree. 

Not one drop of water or oats for me ; 

At night they would come out singing Bacchana- 
lian songs. 

And accost me with 'Get up old lazy bones — go 
along !' 

Oblivious to all decency, then 

They would drive to the house of some courtesan. 

God never repented that he made a horse, 

But at intellectual man he was very wroth. 

I should like to rise at the judgment day, 

Just to hear what some men will have to say. 

Perchance, my hour of triumph will then be. 

The good Lord may unloose my tongue and set it 
free 



26 P B M 8 . 

And place me on the witness stand," quoth lie. 

Some men will feel worse than they eve: made me. 

My testimony will them more appall, 

Than to see a hand writing on the wall ; 

Vol' a clean breast of truth I would make 

Worse than Belshazzar they would quake, 

When that great court day shall come, 

The number of judges shall be only one. 

Chattering lawyers will have to hold their peace, 

There will be no clients for them to lleece — 

Nineteen hundred years ago. 

Christ pronounced upon them a woe; 

The iudge will say to them ere long, 

'Lawyers, your occupation is gone. 

All cases here are individual ones; 

It is not what this or that one done. 

Lawyers, to all eternity. 

Are sure of having a good fire free ; 

There be no Habeas Corpus there, 

To rescue men from black despair. 

The pros and cons used by men. 

Will have no weight or bearing then. 

The Code Napoleon will be spun out. 

Coke and Blackstone will get a rout ; 

Lawyers then can twirl their thumb 

And whistle twiddle de, twiddle dum. 

Years ago I was purchased by a prelate. 
And I was soon going to the country, to his es- 
tate. 



POEMS. 27 



My heart felt light, and my spirits were high 
For to the din of the city, I'd soon say good-bye. 
I made a short prayer, and thanked the Gods 
That instead of hard pavements I'd, soon tread soft 

sod. 
I hoped to be freer from toil and strife, 
And enjoy the comforts of a rural life ; 
I thought of the liills and valleys so fair. 
And I longed for a breath of fresh mountain air; 
To see the waving corn and meadow green 
And quench my thirst in the purling stream. 
Next morning we set out for the country. 
And I trotted along right merrily. 
Although my sh^es were loose, and my feet were 

sore, 
Hope buoyed me up and my ills I bore. 
Many a weary traveler would not have held to the 

end. 
If hope had not sustained him and been his friend. 
It is well that the future is hidden from us. 
And hope given to cheer us that the heart may not 

burst. 
He urged ;ine along at a rapid rate, 
For home he would get before it was late. 
I put forth all my energies. 
Desirous, if possible, to please. 
But I thought I should fall before I reached the 

gate. 
For over two hundred was the weight of the old 

Prelate. 
As there is an end to all journeys below, 



28 PO E H a . 



So at sunset we arrived and he said: 'Whoa!' 

After dark — what do you think? — 

He came and drew water for me to drink, 

And turned me into his neighbor's corn 1 

1 never was more surprised since I was born — 

Told me to eat my fill through the night, 

And he would return for me at daylight. 

Ye Gods, thought I. what does this mean? 

Was this reality, or do I dream ? 

Has he put me here to eat a poor man's corn 

When he has bushels in his barn? 

Only yesterday I heard him say 

That he had enough for years, stowed away. 

Before I would to hunger's cravings yield, 

I felt as hungry as any horse could feel. 

But as hunger knows no law, so I, ' 

There was no alternative, I must eat or die. 

It is almost impossible, but I'll do the best I can 

To give you a facial description of that man. 

Two small, sinister, twinkling eyes belonged to him. 

And he had a round, broad double chin ; 

As to the shape of his prominent nose, 

It reminded you at once of a cockatoo's. 

His mouth resembled not that of Power's Greek 

slave, 
But bespoke at once it belonged to a knave. 
His teeth weie white, of the Irish style, 
And showed to advantage when he smiled. 
He knew there was power in a scornful, or a win- 
ning look. 
And he was not novice at using that hook. 



POEMS. 29 



His smiles were of the fox and snakish kind. 

And his hair hun^^ down in a que behind : 

Around his throat was a white neck-lie 

Folded ntatly, and he wore it high. 

His voice was a powerful one. 

You would think Jove was thundering, when he 

begun. 
He could pitch it to almost any key. 
At times it was sonorous with melodv. 
I assure yt.u it was bass when he took me to the 

barn , 
Just then he wished not applause or to^create alarm^ 
But it rang out as clear as a clarionet 
When he t< Id his hostler to get up and get. 
I have heard different men swear in my time, 
But never knew one that was as proficient as he in 

that line. 
He had reached the height of .sublimity. 
If ill swearing such a thing could be. 
At eleven he was dressed as neat as a pin. 
And he looked as meek and free from sin 
As the stars looked the night before, 
When I heard him lock his granary door, 
As he stalked forth in tad height of his pride, 
He outdone a gobbler at every stride. 
"Come, Charlie, my good horse," said he, 
"To-day you will visit my flock with me." 
His wife came out to bid him good-bye, 
"And O! adieu," he said, as he winked his eye, 
"My dear, you must mind your P's and Q's, 
And reflect I've a bone to pick with you." 



30 POEMS. 



He kissed the sisters in a fatherly way. 

And exhorted the brethren to watch and pray, 

And not be eai^'er to hoard up gold, 

If at last they desired to enter the fold; 

Not to engross themselves in worldly affairs. 

But to give to the church all they could spare, 

And in prayer to their Saviour draw near, 

And seek for sanctification here. 

Paramount to all other sins, said he, 

Beware of the heinous sin of adultery. 

He said, whilst tears streamed from his eyes, 

That years ago he was sanctified, 

Although he lived in this world of strife and sin. 

He had long felt true inwardness within. 

"It is more than thirty years," he said with a whine, 

"Since he had committed a sin of any kind. 



Most assuredly all good men will pass through 

heaven's gate, 
But I think it will be too narrow for that old Prelate. 
I have often heard women traduced by men 
That no good or wisdom dwelt in them. 
In a few words my opinion I'll give. 
A close observer I've been, whilst I have lived. 
And a silent witness to the treachery of men. 
I wish that I could truthfully say more good of them. 
Because women are more apt than they. 
Men adroitly strive to keep them at bay. 
It was not her that denied her Lord, 
C)r for His life took a reward ; 



POEMS. 31 



She never nailed Him to a tree. 

She proved her love by her fidelity : 

Stood by him to the last, we know, 

And to the sepulchre she was the first to go. 

It was her that served that He might eat. 

And with her tears she washed his feet. 

Kneeling-, she kissed them o'er and o'er; 

Perfume and precious ointment on them poured, 

Wiped them dry with the hair of her head ; 

'But she wasted the ointment so selfish,' Simon said, 

Men then as now. 

Were jealous of woman's superior excellence I 

trow. 
And exerted all the faculties of their brains 
The spirit of women to enchain. 
His disciples never gave him shelter, mantle, or 

coat, 
Not one of them ever gave him as much as a groat ; 
They thought they had gained a point when 
They brought in a woman for Him to condemn. 
'We found her in the very act of adultery, 
And forthwith brought her unto Thee. 
By the law of Moses she ought to die.' 
Impatiently they waited for His reply. 
Then spake the w^onderful one ; 
Let him that is innocent cast the first stone.' 
They were self-condemned, and one by one 
Thev went aw-ay speechless, not casting a stone. 
The scene is symbolical of the last day. 
When brutish men will have nothing to say. 
Their trying to make scape-goats of the feminine 

race, 



32 PC EMS 



Shows they have apprehensions of a very hot place. 

A cankerworm gnaws at the heart 

Of men, that basely act their part, 

And pour contumely in their rage 

On the weaker vessel, from age to age. 

In such men's compositions magnanimity 

Is found in only very small proportion. 

Candidly, my opinion of woman is, I ween, 

That in all good deeds they do surpass the men. 

When I have been beaten unmercifully, 

It were wives and children that pled for me. 

1 believ^e that most wives and children when they 

die. 
Will go to bliss beyond the skies. 
And that the majority of angels there 
Will be wives and children, 1 do declare. 
Adam's sons are time sanctioned, it seems, 
'I'o use their vivacious tongues and pens, 
To pour vituperation on defenceless womiCn. 
They have exhausted that theme the truth to tell. 
That the stiller they keep the sweeter they smell. 
Anyone with discernment can see 
That between her and Jesus there exists a strong 

affinity. 
Adam was a coward, that they cannot deny. 
And his first-born was a murderer. 
What man was ever in pain, or near despair. 
That did not to unselfish woman repair? 
It was her that watched o'er his helpless infancy 
And taught him to pray on bended knee. 
Again in old age to whom do they flee 



POEMS . 33 



For encouragement, comfort and sympathy? 

It's to forgiving- woman. On her they can depend, 

For she will cherish and solace them to the end. 

Ah me! both women and men. 

Shall have the sams measure they mete here, met- 
ed again. 

If mother Eve was the first to transgress the law, 

It was her daughter Mary that mended the flaw. 

She gave as a ransom, her Son Divnne; 

He bore the sins, and gave life and health to hu- 
man-kind. 

And before man or angel knew what was done, 

Mary and E^lizabeth rejoiced over God's only Son. 

Though here, by men, they are subjugated and ty- 
rannized, 

They derive strength unseen by man, from on high, 

A very few maledictions were pronounced on them. 

Whilst a score or more hang over the men. 

Women's strength lies in faith, tears and prayer. 

And ungodly men had better beware. 

And treat women with kindness and complacency, 

For in that land where fire is free. 

It's very few women I think they'll see. 

She is flesh of their flesh, and bone of their bone, 

If they do not repent here, hereafter they will groan. 

If the man that invented the accursed check 

Did not get his reward in this world. 

He most assuredly will in the next. 

Of all the ills that horse flesh is heir to, 

The checkrein is the most torturous it is true. 



34 PO E H S 



Why, I have seen horses fall down dead, 

The checkrein caused such excruciatino^ pain in the 

neck and head ! 
I have heard that some philanthrophic men 
Are striving to annihilate them. 
Merciful men! Thank God, there are some. 
That are working hard to undo 
What that wicked man done. 
I have been longing for years to die. 
And that check has b^en one of the reasons why. 
Read the Bible, and in it you will find 
That horses were created and dwelt in Eden before 

mankind. 
God told Noah to put the horses in the Ark, 
And see them safely landed when he disembarked 
It was not a horse that planted the vine ; 
It was Noah not the horses that got drunk upon 

wine. 
Rumsellers, usurers, and horse jockeys 
Will go to that arid land where fire is free. 
In that dry land, they will take a long dry sweat. 
They showed no pity here, there, none they get; 
And a glimmering vail will them obscure 
From that temperate land of waters pure. 
All that they gained here, by ungodly ends. 
They would give for one quaff of water then. 
When my thoughts revert to this subject. 
It stirs up all that is in me antagonistic. 
We are bid to press forward and forget the past, 
As no earthly ills can forever last. 



POEMS. 35 



It would be much better for all of us, 

If mem'ry on some topics was more treacherous. 

Wp would not be happy, if we were kings. 

If we let our thoughts dwell onunpleasant thin^. 

Alack, he is a fool, and will find it so. 

If he is looking for a heaven below. 



I now belong to one Mrs. Vanest, 

She is neither a she bear, nor a lioness. 

Her actions will bear close scrutiny, 

And her motto is, 'Thou God seest me.' 

She knows that gratitude in my bosom dwells; 

I love her because she treats me well. 

'Tis kind words and acts that makes love endure, 

And a horse does appreciate good treatment, sure. 

Use a horse well, and you will soon find. 

That depravity dwells not in him, but in maukind. 

Though an old horse, I have had my say. 

It's soon I must die, and crumble away, 

But before I into oblivion go, 

I'll crave a blessing on all below. 

God bless the men, and their better halves too. 

And help one and all the right course to pursue. 

May they repent, be honest and live soberly, 

And escape that land where fire is free." 



36 POEMS 



WIIAl' I AM WKAKY OF SKEINC 



I am weary, (), so weary, 
Of seeing" monied ones in power; 
That do afflict the Lord's poor, 
And increase their loads each hour. 

I am weary, O, so weary. 
Of hearing parsons preach, 
Who never give an alms 
(3r practice what they teach. 

I am weary, O, so weary, 

Of hearing upstarts brag; 

"Tis strange they can so soon forget 

They were brought up in rags. 

I am weary, O, so weary. 
Of seeing some folks cut a dash. 
Who had better pay their honest debts 
And save a little cash. 

I am weary, O, so weary, 

Seeing wrinkled ladies with gray hairs. 

Painting their necks and faces 

And putting on school-girl airs. 

I am weary, O, so weary, 

Of seeing old men try, 

By parting their hair in the middle, 

The young men to outvie. 



POEMS. 37 



I am weary. O, so weary, 

Of seeing some folks throw stones 

At other people's windows, 

But never at their own. 

SPHIXX. 

Patchogue, July iSth, 1878. 



JUDGE NOT DEAR SPHINX. 

"Dear Sphinx, I'm g-jad to meet yon, 
Toiling along life's way. 
And, as you are so weary, 
I fear you've been astra}'. 

Now dear, dear Sphinx, my neighbor, 
Take no offence, I pray ; 
Lets have a confidential chat, 
As we go on our way. 

For though we are advancing. 
There's always a chance to stray. 
But hate was never, never known 
To show the better way. 

And as you are so weary, 

Come, tell me now I pray, 

Have you not been a stumbling-block 

In some weak brothers way? 

1 fear there is a beam obscures 
And dims your visual ray. 
And that you see with looks askance 
Motes in your neighbors way. 



38 P C E H S 



I'll tell yon what I think is best, 
I'm certain it will pay, 
It is ourselves we first should mend, 
And then for others pray. 

Then we'll not get weary, 
But rest will find each day: 
Now dearest Sphinx, I'm waiting 
To hear what next vou'll sav." 



TO LYNX. 

''Bon jourl friend Lynx, 
Greeting to you I send. 
Thanks for your kind advice, 
I will strive my ways to mend. 

I hope I'm not a stumbling block. 
But I will confess in sooth, 
A blundering block-head I have been 
From my earliest youth. 

Truth often causes hatred ; 
Its infalible followers are few. 
More than once I have crippled it, 
Confess good Lynx, ain't you? 

I, the chief of sinners am. 

And oft get from the track ; 

It is then God sends his afflicting rod 

To chasten and bring me back. 



LYNX. 



POEMS. 39 



Most mortals have some faults, 
But, good Lynx, I have only two, 
It is little g-ood I ever say. 
It is little good I do. 

I wish that you lived near at hand 
To reprimand rne dail}' ; 
I have a natural way of speaking- truth 
That exasperates not rarely. 

xln revoirl good Lynx, for I am weary, 
One more confidential word with you, 
If we search well our own hearts. 
We will find enough to do," 

SPHINX. 



TO SPHINX 



"Dear Sphinx, I am ever so happy, 
I've heard every word that you've said; 
You need not thank me for my wisdom, 
For mine is a very dull head. 

I hope ycu never will stumble, 
If either's a block-head 'tis me, 
I wish we lived nearer together, 
How often each other we'd see ! 

I saw that you were very weary, 
Feared unhappy from what you did say 
So I did it in neighborly kindness. 
To you directed my lay. 

If others part their hair in the middle 
We can part ours the other way ; 



POEMS 



So we'll net get angry about it, 
For it surely, it surely, won't pay. 

And cheeks that are losing their roses 
And beginning to grow rather pale. 
Why a little vermillion wont hurt them. 
Especially if they are for sale. 

If people throw stones at our houses. 
We should not throw any at theirs, 
And if no windows are broken, 
I ask you the question, 'who cares?' 

You've asked me Sphinx if I'm truthful, 
To answer you this much I'll say, 
I think if we both would remember 
We've each of us asked 'will it pay?' 

Now dearest Sphinx, my good neighbor, 
Let us all our fault-findings give o'er, 
Instead laugh with merry contentment. 
Grow fat and be jolly once more. 

And though life be longer or shorter. 
It's good we should certainly see : 
Now again dearest Sphinx I am waiting 
Another kind answer from thee." 

LYNX. 



POEMS. 41 



MNES ON THE IJKATII OV MRS. CAPf. DAVIS HAICEK's 
I'ET BLACK AM) IAN DOG "GYP." 

"Dear mistress, don't mourn for me now. 

Don't mourn for me never. 

For I shall be feasted forever and ever. 

I thought it was heaven when living with you, 

For [ had plenty to eat and nothing to do; 

I slept on your bed in the shade ; ate nice bones 

And I thought no dog on earth had such a good 
home. 

The Creator knew what was for the best : 

I answered the end I was made for, and now I rest 

The hope of meeting takes the sting from adieus; 

So look forward and upward, dear mistress do. 

For a prepared mansion awaits you. 

Notwithstanding I am speaking to you in rhyme, 

Do you realize that you are living on borrowed 
time? 

May your hope be confirmed and your faith in- 
creased ; 

j\Iay you grow in grace and have perfect peace. 

If the soul is longing for the sweet- by-and-by, 

It is an easy thing to die. 

When St. Peter saw me he said 'come in', 

Although I was not a Methodist I had lived with- 
out sin. 

You have been a prudent, faithful wife, 

No man ever had a better in his life; 

An indulgent mother, a changeless friend ; 

But you will not be perfect until Christ descends. 

I'll vouch for it seach this world around, 



42 POEMS 



No better mistress could be found. 

I did not consider when sporting around, 

Thatlieaven on earth was not to be found. 

I sickened and died in a few days — alas! 

How .sad is the thought, all flesh is as grass. 

To those beautiful bowers we will our.selves betake. 

We will walk and not weary —your new toe won't 
ache. 

There will not be any ingrowing nails to cause pain ; 

That kind of thing will have had its reign. 

Pray, dear mistress, pray for the command is al way, 

For erelong there is coming a day. 

When the fowl of the air and the fish in the sea, 

Shall sing praises to God with you and me. 

The cattle on a thousand hills, the beasts on the 
plains. 

Shall gaze on the fields of Eden again. 

Everything that hath breath shall praise the Lord. 

I know that you were very fond of me, 

But I don't suppose you ever gave one thought con- 
cerning my pedigree. 

If you will ascend my ancestral tree. 

My fiist parents were in Eden with yours, yoti will 

see. 
Do not think that you have a cause to grieve 

Because my first parents were created before Adam 
and Eve. 

Dogs obey the Creator's divine commands. 

And their progeny have been fostered by his bounti- 
ful hand, 

When the flood came they were safely housed in 
the ark 



POEMS. 43 



And landed unharmed when Noah disembarked. 
Good cheer ahead, dear Mistress, patiently wait; 
Soon Eden will be restored to its first estate 
Then all good dog-gies, women and men 
Will live lovingly tog-ether in Eden again. 

ON A VISIT TO THK CITV OF NEW YORK. 

I arrived safe and' sound ; 

Friends here quite well I found. 

About me have not one care ; 

Although I am here I'll soon be there. 

Nabobs and fools may like city noise, 

Country quiet I will soon enjoy. 

I detest this noisy place, 

Morpheus will not me embrace ; 

Or if I get into his arms, 

Soon firebells ring out alarms; 

Then there is no sleep for me, 

Not knowing where the fire may be. 

Men singing uncouth songs. 

Cars running all nightlong. 

Horses here find no repose, 

]\lanifold are their woes. 

Its work all day and work all night; 

Alas! Sunday for them has no respite. 

Here woman's and man's greatest aim. 

Is the almighty dollar to obtain. 

When obtained will they be blessed? 

Will it bring them happiness? 

Working and toiling with all their might. 

From early morn till late at night, 

Imperiling both body and soul. 

To fill their coffers with dead gold. 



44 POEMS 



The houses are nine stories high, 

With steeples pointing- to the sky. 

Running up and down so many stairs, 

Daily my health impairs. 

I had rather be hanged or drowned 

Than stay in this noisy bustling town ; 

So must bestir me and get away, 

This chattering will kill me if I stay. 

They hurry to amusements of all kinds. 

Then hurry away to drink beer and wine. 

Nothing but hurry from day to day. 

Even the dead are hurried away. 

A parson is hired a few words to say, 

He makes a short prayer and hurries away — 

The survivors heed it not; 

Soon the dead and the warning is forgot ; 

Yes, forgot amidst this racket and din. 

As though on earth they ne'er had been. 

Women flit their lives away 

Striving to be stylish and make a display. 

Take vows damning to their souls, 

Marry men they hate, but love their gold. 

The men work, hurry and prate, 

Regardless of a future state. 

Strain brains and nerves to the highest pitch 

To have a name of dying rich. 

They hurry and mingle in the bustle and din, 

Plunging deeper and deeper into sin. 

Until death hurries them to that bourne 

From whence no traveler returns. 

A Letter Written, to my Sister, Alis.f Aur/ iista J. Smith 
New York City, Sept. 13th, 1868. 



POEMS. 45 



LINES TO SEND WITH A PATCHWORK QV]\. 
FOR MISS MARTHA BAILEY. 

I cannot see to sew as good or as fast. 
As I was wont in days that are past. 
Let the infirmities of age for me plead, 
And take my good will for the dead. 
I pieced this quilt; shall send it to you, 
If I had a son I would send him to. 
That afternoon I staved to tea, 
I assure you it was refreshing to me, 
To see a young woman act so naturally. 
Common sense and virtue will prevail 
O'er minds where wit and beauty fails. 
Integrity maintained is a goodly prize 
Martha, you are lovely in my eyes. 



LITTLE HORATIO SMITH'S ADDRESS TO HIS EArilER. 

Dear father, do not mourn for me, 

Safely I passed life's raging sea; 

My bark is moored within the vale, 

I have no fear of storm or gale. 

Do not mourn or repine. 

A heavenly mansion now is mine. 

I was taken from a world of sin and care, 

Full of temptation, sin and snares, 

To a land that is fairer than day. 

Be reconciled dear father, and 'amen' say. 

Just inside the gate in robes of white, 

Stood grandfather smiling with delight: 



46 POEMS 



Said that his heart o'erflowed with joy, 
As he embraced me, his dear Georg'e's boy. 
He makes these upper reg'ions ring 
When lie shouts 'glory to heaven's king,' 
Gird up your loins for the hour draws nigh 
When you too will share the sweet by-and-bye. 
Dry up your tears, do not complain, 
Your loss was my eternal gain." 

Patchogue, July loih, 1886. 



LINES WRl 1 TEN ON 'I'HE DEATH OF LITTLE KA^•M(>NI) 
MULSE. 

Yonder little grave so dark and cold, 
It doth my darling boy enfold. 
His spirit far away has flown ; 
Oh, why am I left on earth to moan? 

Still I see his eyes so bright. 
His smile so sweet, his form so light ; 
My heart is riven with anguish wild, 
I long to embrace my seraphic child. 

Oft in hours of gloom I turn to see, 

I know his spirit hovers near to me. 

I kiss his toys and hug his shoes; 

I'd not exchange them for all the gold in PeriL 

J would willingly lie down and die. 

To join my darling in the sky. 

No one can sympathize with my grief so wild. 

Save a mother that has lost her child. 

Patchogue, April loth, 1S71. 



P OE HS. 47 



A PRAYER. 

Give a pure heart O (lod, I pray, 
That I may not dread the judgment day. 
Cleanse my hands so that I may 
Rise triumphant on that great day. 
On my forehead put thy mark, 
Then I shall see Thee as Thou art. 
When my pilgrimage ends below 
May I to Thy promised mansions go. 



SELF EXAMINATION, 

AVhilst I have been toiling to gain wealth, 
Have I loved my neighbor as myself? 
When I have seen him go coatless, 
Have I done what I ought to do? 
Have I given him one when I had two? 
Have I exercised charity toward my fallen fellow- 
men? 
Have I acted the part of the good Samaritan? 
Have I into their wounds poured oil and wine? 
Have I always spoken to them words that were kind ? 
Have I visited the widow and the fatherless? 
Have I given succor to those that were in distress? 
Have I wept with those who wept? 
Have I the commandments kept? 



48 PO EH S 



A TRlIUriE TO FLORKNCK J. B\K1'. 

Your son is not dead; 

He is taking that sleep, 

From which none ever 

Wake to weep ; 

He has gone to liv^e with Crod 

He crossed the river safely 

And landed dry shod. 

He lives ! lie lives ! 

And wondrous sights behold, 

As he walks along with Jesus, 

Those dazzling streets of gold. 

He has entered into eternal life, 

And in a mansion shines, 

And with King Jesus drinks anew 

The precious promised wine. 

Sweet music floats upon his ears, 

With no discordant sound. 

He plucks those never fading flowers, 

That are only in Eden found. 

In those bowers he feels no pain ; 

He has no lonely hours, 

And he is singing '-Halleluah !" 

With all ransomed powers. 

There the table is always spread. 

The crystal fount is free ; 

He has ambrosial fruit to eat, 

It grows on life's fair tree. 

He lives — has gone before. 

And with transport he will greet you. 

When you land on that glorified shore. 

• Patchogue. August Sth, 1S75. 



POEMS. 49 



DORSET BOV. 

It was not a palace where I was born, 

But a straw-thatched cottage most forlorn. 

It seemed as if fate had decreed 

More thorns than roses for poor me. 

When I was born into this world, 

No golden cup was at me hurled, 

No silv^er spoon was in my mouth, 

Nor had one ever graced the house. 

The night was dark, a storm was wild, 

When I was born a poor, dowerless child. 

No demonstrations were made, far or near, 

To announce that 1 was born here. 

Few greeted me I have been told. 

No guns were fired, no bells were tolled. 

Five years had scarcely passed by, 

When father in his grave did lie. 

Just ten years from my birth. 

My mother slept in mother earth. 

I had no home, no friend came near 

To soothe my grief or drop one tear. 

A well-worn bible my mother gave me ; 

It was my only legacy. 

Mother had taught me the Lord's prayer 

That no evil communications would bring a snare. 

The ten commandments I did know. 

But further than that I could not go. 

My education, it was small, 

I could not read or write at all. 

I laid me dowm upon the sod 

And raised my heart in prayer to God. 

The stars their vigils o'er me kept, 



50 POEMS. 

While so sweetly there I slept. 

When I awoke the moon was clear. 

The birds were singing far and near, 

While seated there upon the gr(jund» 

I heard a distant rumbling sound. 

Soon a nobleman came riding by — 

He stopped and asked what made me cry. 

In a few words my tale I did unfold, 

Not thinking he would prove to be my goal. 

'•Jump in my coach," said he, 

•'You shall my little footman be." 

To London city I did ride 

Not knowing what there would me betide. 

He was the Mayor of that great city 

And gave me a home oat of pity. 

In the garret where I slept, 

I there my little bible kept. 

I served my master faithfully 

And many books he gave to me. 

The cook taught me how to read, 

Because I helped her when she had need. 

Soon as my days work was o'er. 

My mind with knowledge I strove to store. 

In the garret I was wont to read and write 

Until the small hours of the night ; 

Not thinking anyone could see or hear, 

I invoked God's help without a fear. 

But my master watched on the sly. 

And on me he kept a steady eye. 

With his little daughter May. 

In the Park I often played. 



POEMS. 61 



I was sorry when the hour come 

To carry little Mary home. 

For we spun the top and rolled the hoop, 

Talked of birds and then of brooks. 

When May was sick the nurse did say 

That she cried to see me every day. 

I used to pray should little May die 

That she might be an angel in the sky. 

This is a world of change 'tis true 

As 1 will shortly prove to you ; 

For little May was sent away 

To learn the ethics of the day. 

My master gave me searching looks. 

And said, "go bring me all your books," 

To the garret forthwith I hied 

And brought them down with feelings shy. 

He said that he wished to know 

Whether I had studied fast or slow. 

His catechism was very brisk, 

Thank goodness, not one word I missed. 

He said, "a teacher for you I will get. 

Perchance you may be a scholar yet." 

I imnroved every moment of my time, 

I hoped Fame's ladder I might climb. 

Seven years now had passed away. 

Since I had seen dear little May. 

The servants were brushing and dusting each room, 

To welcome the young heiress home. 

I never had thought until that hour 

That she was rich and I was poor. 

I saw the gulf that between us lay 

And braved my heart to meet that day. 



52 POEMS 



My master had made me his secretary, 

It should have made my heart feel merry. 

My heart was wretched, it beat with pain, 

I prayed for discretion should we meet a<jain. 

If she has or has not me foro-ot, 

To love in silence must be my lot,. 

The day arrived and so did she. 

None longed for or dreaded that day as me. 

The deepest love flows through the touch and eye. 

And will reach the heart of low and high. 

She gave me a look, then proffered her hand ; 

Ye Gods! thought I, is this earth where I stand? 

No scribe, no tongue, no pen or skill. 

Can ever" half portray that thrill. 

I saw no more of lovely May 

Until weeks, yes months had passed away, 

I worked as man never worked before, 

Whilst love without hope was feasting on my heart's 

core. 
Yes, I worked hard and received my pay 
And strove not to think of lovely May. 
My master was my banker, he kept for me my gains. 
But such searching looks he gave me, it almost 

turned my brains. 
Tt is true I had saved some hundred pounds. 
Notwithstanding the world seemed blank, and all 

around. 
My step grew limp, my checks were pale. 
My strength, health and courage failed. 
One constant thought, it harassed me. 
I longed for and dreaded the end to be. 
I expected each day to hear 



POEMS. 53 



That some Lord or Marquis was betrothed to my 

dear. 
Suddenly uiy master was taken ill 
And sent for a counselor to make his will. 
Before that document was drawn 
I sat in his room and felt most forlorn. 
My master .said, "make ready without delay 
And scijd for my only daughter May." 
I prayed to God to give me power 
To pass through the ordeal of that hour. 
Into the future I could not see, 
Not dreaming that bliss awaited me. 
May was brought in looking pale 
And before her father's eyes she quailed. 
He looked at me and then at May 
And slowly turned his eyes away. 
He drew a deep, long, smothered sigh 
And thought, "who knows their hearts as I? 
I have watched them both and I cannot see, 
Any attempts at deception or chicaner}-. 
On every feature of May's face 
A hopeless love I there can trace. 
The thought of sending that boy from me, 
Cuts like a two-edged sword I see. 
He has served me faithfully for years. 
To think of a separation does bring the tears. 
He is all that is good, noble and brave 
I am sure that he would die my life to save. 
The false pride of birth I will decry 
And for him a title I will buy. 
May dare not tell me the secret of her heart 
Fearing that I would quickly with him part. 



54 POEMS. 



I know her feelings every whit 

For I in mv youth did love's cup sip. 

The one I loved I never wed. 

Ah ! many years she has been dead. 

And as I have a soul to be lost or saved, 

My heart went with her into the grave. 

I loved her and do love her though under the sod, 

I say it with reverence, better than my God. 

I have traversed the continent and plowed the 

briny wave. 
But my thoughts would revert to her little, lonelv 

grave. 
1 do despise matchmaking and will not play a part. 
When I know there is only a hand and not a heart." 
He told the lawyer to begin, 
x'Vnd call the other witnesses in. 
'T do now publicly proclaim 
That on my secretary I do bestow my name. 
To him my houses and my lands, 
J bequeath them to him just as they stand. 
My gold and silver, my shares in the mines. 
To give them to him has long been on my mind. 
Without another thought I say, 
I freely give him my only daughter May. 
Confer that title on him without delay, 
He shall be a Duke, and a Duchess May. 
May God's blessing on you rest — 
I have done what I hope is for the best." 
The day was set; the news it spread, 
That lovely May and I would wed. 
The drums were beat, the colors did fly, 
As little May and I passed by. 



POEMS. 55 



Guns were fired and cannons too, 

And fireworks set of every hue. 

No demonstrations were ever made for me, 

Until I arrived at thirty-three. 

Now all Londoners shout as I pass by. 

"There goes an honest man," they cry. 



56 POEMS. 

MEMORIAL TO MRS. CHARLOTTE (I. SMnH. 

Charlotte, clearly beloved si.ster, I miss thee, 

ISIore than my tongue ean tell, 

One precious thought sustains me — 

With my soul it is. it is well. 

Thou wert my faithful counselor, 

And as good as thou wert wise ; 

A guide to my youth and tlip light of my eyes. 

Years have come and years have past, 

vSince my hand in thine was gently clasped. 

That look of undying love thou gavest me 

Found an affinity in my heart. 

I knew the time had come, 

Death was sundering us apart, 

^And when that smile of satisfaction 

O'er spread thy lovely face, 

I knew that God had sent thee 

A portion of his d3dng grace. 

Then thine eyes seemed looking into vacancy ; 

I looked where thou w^ast looking. 

No one could I see ; 

Thou wast talking to Jane, John and Mother, 

And seemed delighted to see them, 

One after the other. 

I stood by thy bed listening. 

Eager to catch thy last words, 

When they came I had my reward ; 

They were "Jesus my Lord;" 

The last word that passed thy lips 

Was Jesus' name. 

I saw^ Him not, but He was there all the same. 



POEMS. 57 



Turning darkness into liglit, dispersing the gloom, 

And smoothing thy pathway to the tomb. 

He came with a convoy and bore thee above, 

To sing His grace and undying kive. 

Thy spirit returned from whence it came, 

Tliy body in the grave was lain. 

At the time appointed Gabriel's trumpet will blow, 

Thy soul and body united will in immortality glow. 

By the God thou didst fear, my dear Charlotte, 

Not one of His children will ever be forgot. 

They are beautifully woven into his plans. 

He will have regard unto the work of his owm hands. 

Yes, he that listens to Creations groans 

Will preserve their dust and watch o'er their bones. 

He never gets weary. He never faints. 

Precious in His eyes are the death of His saints. 

Praise His name, He holds them as the apple of 

His eye, 
And in His arms He will fold them, 
Till all the storms pass by. 
Years have come and years have flov^^i. 
Since from my heart thou wast borne. 
My ever faithful, unliving friend. 
Having loved me thou didst love me to the end; 
Even now the food I eat and the clothes I wear 
Are the outcome of thy frugality and care, 
1 think of thee the livelong day. 
And dream of thee the lonely nights away. 
Oft thou didst give sulTering humanity a look, 
Then thy heart was moved and thy hand unclasped 

thy pocket-book. 



58 POEMS 



The fatherless were clothed and the widows were 
fed; 

Thou didst care for the sick until the spirit fled; 

And thy hands made grave clothes for the dead. 

That they were decently interred, thou didst over- 
see, 

Telling the undertaker and grave-digger to send 
their bills to thee. 

Thy left hand never knew what thy right hand was 
wont to do. 

No herald proclaimed it, no trumpet blew, 

Thou wast diligent in business not seeking thy bliss, 

Nor looking for heaven in a region like this. 

Thickly the thistles and briars in thy pathway grew. 

The thorns were sharp and the roses few ; 

The darts that were maliciously aimed at thee, 

Have rebounded and pierced thy enemies. 

The devil and his ungodly crew, 

vStrove hard to annihilate thee, 'tis true; 

But He, who notes when a sparrow falls, 

Carried thee safely through it all. 

Thy motto was to do good for evil. 

Speak the truth and shame the devil. 

Years have come and years have fled 

Since thou wert numbered with the dead. 

When the doctors consulted and gave their decision, 

That thou hadst not long to remain with the living, 

My heart put on mourning; 'twas not bombazine 
and crape 

To be worn one short year for appearance sake. 

God knew how I felt and has helped me along. 

Pr-aises to the name, he cannot do wrong. 



POEMS 



I thank Him for all the afflictions and blessings he 

gives ; 
I thank Him, my sister, that thou didst once live. 
It will be shown when the world has its final exit. 
That it was better because thou lived in it. 
Farewell, sister beloved, adieu I 
Ere long we shall meet at the grand review. 
And will see each other face to face. 
And every furrow that sorrow traced, 
Will be forever from our brow erased. 
Tears will not bedew our eyes any more. 
About evils that we could not prevent, but deplored. 
In that peaceful happy clime, 
All corroding cares are left behind. 
What I would is done; 
I penned these measures as they came. 
A poor tribute to thy intrinsic worth ; 
I am. inadequate, being earthly of earth, 
But thou wilt be remembered for good by the Lord 
Because thou didst fear Him and tremble at His 

word. 

Patchogue, March 15th, 18S9. 



60 POEMS 



Lnri.K Rurii. 

A jNIoabitess, she was and poor; 

Her heart was riven to its core. 

Sad and lonely was her lot; 

Yet by God she was not forgot. 

Contrite and humble she oft did go 

And tell him all her grief and woe. 

She appealed to Him and not in vain 

He sent her to glean in the fields' grain. 

King Moab was moved to pity when he saw 

Little Ruth toiling for her mother-in-law. 

She gathered the barley with the greatest care, 

Tnat her mother might have enough to eat and to 

wear, 
Moab watched her come and go, 
About her lineage he was btnind to know. 
When he had ascertained the truth, 
His heart yearned toward little Ruth. 
She gleaned the barley in a trice, 
And ere long was Mcab's wife. 
So little Ruth was raised you see. 
By trusting God implicitly. 
And it is also true. 
She was great-grandmother to David too. 

Patchogue, April ioth,i87S. 



POEMS. 61 



DKACON MOOkK. 



There is not a mortal in this world 

That should have more anathemas at him hurled 

Than Q. H Moore, deacon of the church, 

That's g'oing' to heaven on his good works. 

His standing in the church is A No. i ; 

No business in the holy edifice can be done 

Unless the rich deacon, Q. H. Moore, 

Has all the say and takes the floor. 

He puts the cloak of religion on 

To further his good works along 

His money was not earned by toil and labor, 

He was a merchant and African slaver. 

One day a subscription was brought around 

And he felt sure his name would get a sound. 

He quickly put his name down ; "I, Q. H. Moore, 

Do give an hundred and fifty pounds to the poor.' 

As he sat in his parlor that afternoon. 

He said to his wife in an angry tone, 

"If poor relations come here for clothes or bread, 

Tell them to go to the poorhouse and get fed. 

When I give alms I mean that it shall tell. 

My name in the papers must get a swell. 

Otherwise, wife, "do you hear, 

The poor may go to Hades clip and clear." 

He married for money an imbecile wife, 

Over-reached himself once in his life, 

Was checkmated it is true. 



62 POEMS 



His children were lacking in story number two. 

Strange to tell he had a sister pious and poor, 

She was sick and death was waiting at her door. 

When sent for. "let her die," said he. 

"The wind is fair. I am going to sea." 

She died ; was laid in a pauper's grave. 

He sailed to Absynnia and stole a load of slaves, 

A shrewd, enterprising man was he in that line. 

His heart was as hard as adamantine. 

An honest farmer near this deacon lived 

And as upright a man my word I give, 

As ever broke bread although his bread was brown. 

No better man dwelt within the town ; 

He toiled early and late. 

Assiduously his fields to cultivate. 

The most exemplary man in town, 

Was good, pious, old William Brown. 

"I must have old Brown's land," said Q. H. Moore, 

•T have made up ray mind and I'll not give o'er. 

As I have business that way, 

I will call on and blarney old Brown to-day." 

He never gave a poor man a smile. 

Unless he could use him to advantage awhile. 

When they had made plain intricate parts or formed 

a bevel. 
He would pay them a pittance and say, "go to the 

devil." 
He harnessed his horse and rode around, 
Stopped, alighted, smiled and said, "how do you 

do, brother Brown? 
Feeling neighborly tov^^ard you I thought I would 

call, 



POEMS. 63 



Perchance you may need some money this fall. 

You have a very nice piece of land, 

I should like to see you have a nice cottage on it 

stand. 
Your old house there will surely tottle down 
Before another year comes around." 
Mr. Brown after some hesitancy did say, 
As he brushed a tear away, 
"That old house to me is very dear, 
But will not stand much longer I do fear." 
"Brother Brown, do dry your tears. 
And for the future have no fears; 
Build you a house broad and high, 
I'll stand your friend, yes, that will I." 
"I thank you Mr. Moore you are very kind 
But I have firmly made up m}^ mind 
That in debt I will not get. 
1 never have known its thralldom yet." 
"Brother Brown, in my heart I wish you well, 
Just imagine how a new house on these grounds 

would tell, 
And enhance the price I know right well 
Should you ever want to sell." 
"True, Mr. Moore, my house is old and poor 
But no suppliant goes away empty from that door. 
My trust is in God, if I toil and wait awhile, 
That heaven will on my endeavors smile." 
"My good brother cast to the winds your fears 
And reflect you are advanced in years, 
Here take my gold build you a house 
And live therein joyfully with your spouse; 



64 POEMS. 



I have no use for this money yon see. 
And it would do my heart good to benefit thee. 
Don't say one word about pay day, 
Just sign the mortgage without delay. 
You need not live here in obscurity, 
If you will be advised by me. 
Here, take this pen, put there your name. 
All will be well, by it you will gain." 
Thus he blinded good Brown's visual sight 
And secured a mortgage from him outright. 
Moore twisted his mustache as he rode home 
Saying "I carried my p>:»int this afternoon, 
Old Brown was a toy ir my hand ; 
Next year I will oust him off that land. 
Why he will not have enough to buy a new wig. 
He is as ignorant of law as a guinea pig." 
Ere one short year had passed away. 
Hyprocritical Moore went for his pay. 
Honest William Brown begged for grace ; 
Moore called him a scoundrel to his face. 
"This mortgage I must foreclose 
And your extravagance I will expose. 
Oh, the pride of some poor men 
Does bring them to a sorry end I" 
Brown strove, but strove in vain to tell his tale 
With the incorrigible deacon he could not prevail 
"This will learn yoit to live within your means 
And not to build castles in your dreams ; 
You have disgraced your family in a shameful way; 
You should have kept out of debt is all I have to 
.say." 



POEMS. 65 



All good folks were moved to tears 

When of honest Brown's trouble they did hear. 

It was useless for them to act or speak, 

JVIoore was rich and strong, they poor and weak. 

O- H. Moore went bustling around, 

And thus did his sonorous voice resound: 

"Go home you lazy dogs and pay your debts 

Of you to, with old Brown, will be upset." 

The place was sold, Moore bought it in, 

None dare bid against that man of sin. 

The good work of Moore that day overcame good 

Brown, 
And he fell lifeless to the ground. 
Although Q. H. Moore was deacon of the church, 
I suppose he was busy at good works. 
For to the funeral he did not go ; 
Perhaps it was because it was only a poor man dead 

you know. 
Good Brown is dead and laid away, 
To rest until the judgment day ; 
Then his deeds will bear the light, 
Whilst Q. H. Moore will quail with fright. 
As to the amours of the Deacon, I have been told, 
That he was not like Potiphar's servant, Joseph of 

old. 
Why should folks have anything to say 
If he pays the widow Jones' rent in a fatherly way? 
When sister Green is out of a prayer-meeting night. 
If he gallants her home, is it not right? 
Sister Green is timid and might get a fright, 
And would not venture out aijain unless it was lisfht 



66 POEMS 



While Captain Stokes is gone to sea, 

Sister Stokes is as lonesome as lonesome can be. 

Until she hears the philanthrophic Moore, 

Gently knocking at her door. 

Could he do less or more. 

When sister Stokes is left alone on shore, 

Than relieve the tedium of those lonely hours, 

By taking her to some enchanting bower? 

The parsimonious Parson of Moore's church 

Did not take Moore to task about his good works. 

He had an eye to the good things of life, 'tis said, 

And kept a sharp lookout for fish and bread. 

When Moore in church deigned to pray, 

His parson said "Amen" in an approving way. 

He never offended a rich member of his church ; 

He smiled approbation on their good works ; 

He preached charity like others of his kind ; 

To the faults of his dear flock he was quite blind. 

No man could see a guinea quicker it is true, 

When he looked after the summer revenue. 

His flock had no cause to wince or groan, 

He always preached in an undertone, 

And if two or three Iambs went to sleep 

He said they had overworked during the week. 

Q. H. Moore's larder is well filled. 

His table, burdened, groans, 

He has little or no appetite. 

He loathes a honeycomb. 

His bed is made of softest down. 

But gentle sleep does on him frown. 

Small comfort does this deacon take. 



POEMS. 67 



He has not relish for his bed or plate. 

His da3's are most spent, he is getting old, 

And he dreams about men he has bought and sold. 

When he is awake he is enumerating in his mind, 

How he can secure and leave a philanthrophic name 

behind. 
He has decided to build a church, 
So that future generations will tell of his good works. 
He is determined that his name shall have a sound 
After he, Q. H. Moore, is under ground. 
He has purchased a graveyard plot 
And erected a monument on the most conspicuous 

spot. 
To show where Q. H. Moore doth lie. 
After he has ceased to sell and buy. 



I will drop the curtain o'er the rest of this pious 

deacon's life, 
But should curiosity constrain you more to know, 

ask his heartbroken wife, 
If she would she could a tale unfold, 
That would open your eyes and stir your soul. 

Patchogue, January 12, 1870. 



WRITTEN IN HIS ALBUM, JAY J. SMITH. 

My nephew is a sprightly boy. 

To compose music his time employs. 

May he like David play the harp 

x-Ynd praise the Lord with all his heart, 

And when to manhood he arrives 

Be learned, discreet, just and wise. 

Patchogue, May 23, 1S85. 



68 POEMS 



THE WIDOW S l.AMKNl-. 

Why is it my lot to be alone 

Without ehild or chick to cheer my home. 

With quivering lip and eyes o'erflown? 

I weep over my desolation in silence alone. 

Since it is known that I am poor, 

The path with grass is o'er grown that leads to my 

door. 
In the days of my prosperity, 
Not one of those blades peeped out at me. 
My friends so called, I thought them true. 
They have flitted away like morning dew. 
They sat at my table, slept in my beds; 
Alas! where now have they all fled? 
They drank my wine without alloy, 
I joyed to see them full of joy. 
With a liberal hand I dispensed hospitality. 
They professed friendship, boundless as the sea. 
Not one of them gave succor to me. 
They have left me to die in want and penuery. 



LAZARUS TO TEMPERANCE. 

I am glad to know your whereabouts. 
And have read every word you wrote. 
Rest assured you are not alone. 
In this the staunchest ship afloat. 
Truth immortal is the keel, 
God's promises the beams: 



POEMS. 69 



She's planked by virtue all around, 
And perse veranee fills eaeh seam. 

The mast, Christ, towers high. 
It eannot be defaeed by time; 
Ever will that blood-stained banner wave- 
Float o'er the wreeks of time. 
The bible is the compass; 
The course is straight ahead ; 
Turn not to the right or left, 
There's no sounding for the lead. 

Emanuel is the Captain s name ; 
He's invested with all power; 
And he stands by his crew, 
In the stormiest of hours. 
Darkness may surround them, 
And seas run mountains high; 
A light shines throtigh all vapors, 
That faith can always spy. 

There's no damascus blade so keen. 

As prayer by faith can yield ; 

It calms the tempest, soothes the soul. 

The enem)' leaves the field. 

Cut all worldly moorings. 

If in waters still you'd glide ; 

Or if self, or self -righteousness remain, 

Hurl it o'er the good ship's side. 

The weapons used on board that ship ; 
Are not of a carnal kind ; 
But are overpowering through our God, 
Toward vSatan and all his kind. 



70 POEMS 



Keep on hating the devil ; 
Don't believe in his; report. 
That the ship is old and rotten. 
And will not reaeh the port. 

He is a liar, it never stranded yet. 

What is more it never will I 

All on board will reaeh the harbor, 

Those the Captain's pleased to eall. 

Keep on trying- to be faithful. 

The end is drawing nigh ; 

A chosen few will drink new wine, 

"With their Captain by and by. 



RULES OF l.TFE 



Keep good company, 
Or none. 

Be an attentive listener, 
And bridle your tongue. 

Keep God's commands 
And secure a good name. 
By honest, untiring industry, 
Gain wealth and fame. 

List not to wolves in sheep's clothing 
Least they make you forget 
That an old friend is incomparable 
To all new ones you may get. 

Visit outcasts often 

Having their soul's good in view. 



POEMS. 71 



Striving to reclaim them 
Will not contaminate you. 

Let confidential frionds 

Be well chosen and few ; 

Your aims onward and upward, 

Keeping right, not might, in view. 

Befriend the oppressed, 
Let the carnal minded see 
That a bribe will not sway you, 
And that you loathe usury. 

Keep good company 
In city or in town. 
Get up at sunrise 
And retire at sundown. 

Patchogue, Feb. roth, iSSo. 



IMPLICIT TRUST IN JESUS. 

This world would not seem so dreary and cold, 

If we exercised faith — our anchor would hold. 

Onward we would go valiently and bold, 

If our trust was implicit in Jesus. 

Nor would we murmer at our trials here. 

Or be filled with harassing doubts and fears, 

We would hopefully look forward to better cheer. 

If our trust was implicit in Jesus. 

The wind might howl and the rain descend, 

And death take from us our dearest friends ; 

The Comforter will sustain us to the end, 

If our trust is implicit in Jesus. 



72 POEMS. 



Soon would our complaining vanish away, 

In him we would have grace to strengthen and stay. 

And thankfulness would l)e our lay, 

If our trust was implicit in Jesus. 

Not all the votaries of sin, 

Nor troubled passions that rage within 

Could shake our confidence. We will surely win, 

If our trust is implicit in Jesus. 

With faith for our helmet and shield. 
We will rout all enemies from the field, 
The monster death, he too must yield, 
it our trust is implicit in Jesus. 

If we cast our burdens on Him as he bade us to do. 
Our raiment will grow whiter all the way through. 
And a dry path o'er Jordon will appear to our view, 
Tf our trust is implicit in Jesus. 

Patchogue, May 6th, 1876 



man's cruelty. 

''No flocks that graze the mountain side. 
To slaughter I'd condemn ; 
Taught by the power that pities me, 
I would learn to pity them." 

No birds that fly from tree to tree 
Shall ever receive harm from me ; 
They warble forth their maker's praise. 
And I will imitate their lays. 

God only gave them instinct, 
I:)Ut intellect he gave to man ; 



POEMS. 73 



He never repented that he made floek or birds, 
But was sorry that he made man. 

If men would be bound to-gether 
In bonds of Christian \owe, 
There would be an end to discord ; 
Love has no cause for blood. 

Why do they nurse their hatred 
And fan the coals of strife. 
Until nothing but blood will satisfy, 
And in dueling end their lives? 



TEMPERANCE. 

Let every man and woman 
Now firmly take a stand, 
And with redoubled energy 
Encourage the temperance band. 

The lions that seem to beset the path 

Are only cowardl}^ bellowing calves ; 

God is the work, don't have a fear; 

Ere long the land will be rid of rum and beer. 

Men will not then be staggering through the street. 
As now each day we often meet. 
Wives and children's eves will be dry 
When there is no rum for father to buv- 



74 POEMS 



AN OLD man's SOLILOQU'i' ON HIS 9 1 ST BIKTIIDAV. 

Another year is gone, 'tis spent; 

Still borrowed time is unto me lent: 

I am decrepit and wrecked with care. 

With none but God to share my grief and cares. 

Life is burdensome unto me, 

Naught but wearisome days and nights I see. 

It is a little solace that I receive or can give ; 

Oh, why am I destined still to live? 

Many years have I traveled on 

vSince every loved one has been gone. 

Why does death take the young and brave 

And leave the old and weary to wrestle with life's 
boisterous wave? 

Oft I have followed to the tomb. 

Young men that were lithe and strong, cut down 
in full bloom, 

And I thought, why were it not I, but a voice whis- 
pered, "God's will be done." 

He has taken them from evil to come. 

My comforts all I have outlived. 

Except the blest inspiring one's religion gives. 

I do not wish my loved ones back again, 

But 1 long to I'oin them on that Heavenly plain. 

'Tis seventy-one years ago to-day, 

Since for better or worse I took my lovely May. 

If ever a woman proved all better, that one was she. 

She lived and died without ever offending me. 

Each day she gladdened the hearts of the poor ; 

None went away empty that called at our door. 



POEMS. 75 



She smiled as she gave and spake words of kind 

cheer. 
And sympathy filled her heart, her eyes o'erllowed 

with tears. 
I loved her. and my tears in silence do flow 
For her who died, ah me, "tis years ago I 
I long to end my pilgrimage here 
And join her again in that l)right sphere. 
Since the last of nine children, my all. was taken 

away. 
None, save He who gave, 

Knew how I felt when they filled that grave. 
No loving wife to sooth this aching brow : 
No child to call me father now. 
Oh, how I long to be at rest with them 
And begin the life that has no end I 
Oft do my feeble footsteps wend their way 
To the little churchyard each pleasant day, 
And read the name of her. on that mo.ss-covered 

stone. 
That was flesh of my flesh, and bone of my bone, 
I sit for hours in that old iron chair. 
And live o'er the past with my loved ones that lie 

there ; 
And each loved face comes back fresh to my view, 
As o'er those ten graves my eyes slowly take review. 
As night comes on and I must away. 
Each loved spirit seems to whisper and say. 
"Only a little longer dear father, then we all will 

come 
And bear thee away to our heavenly home." 

Patchogue, Jan. 1869. 



76 POEMS. 



A PRAYER ON (lOINC. lO SKA, 



Keep my little ship and I, my G')d. 
From whirlwinds, rocks and shoals; 
Thy oceans are so deep and wide. 
Without aid we cannot hold. 

Keep me, my God, when storms arise 
And high the billows roll: 
Permit me to reach my destined port ; 
Wilt thou the voyage control? 

Keep me, my God, in perils hour. 

Let ray heart on Thee be staid. 

And all mv residue of days I will proclaim. 

Thy wondrous power to save. 

Keep the ship, my God ; for it is but a speck 
Upon Thy boundless sea; 
Loved ones I ne'er shall greet again 
Unless it pleaseth Thee. 

Keep me, my God, into Thy hands 
My all I do commend; 

The ship and I will .safely reach the port. 
If thou will take the helm. 

Patchogue, Jan. 28th, 1868. 



POEMS. 77 



THE SOLILOQUY OF A DVINCi INFIDEL. 

I know this sickness is unto death, 

And that soon of life I shall be bereft; 

The grim monster is waiting at the door 

To drag me from these mortal shores. 

The blood is slowly coursing through my veins; 

Soon soul and body will be twain. 

My body is of but little worth, 

It belongs I know to mother earth, 

Alas, my poor soul I thou art scarred and riven. 

And quails to appear before the God of earth and 

heaven ; 
Shrinks from the just sentence of the law, 
In which all my life I have tried to pick flaws. 
Yes, I exerted all the faculties of my brains, 
And all the talent I could attain; 
Most willingly have I lain in the devil's trance. 
To prove that all things do come by chance. 
For years I have been trying to prove God's word 

a lie, 
And that the great I Am was a nonentity. 
Adroitly I wrote some blasphemous lies ; 
O misery ! My soul begins to taste the death that 

never dies. 
Those yet unborn will imbibe the spirit of my 

books, 
It fills me with horror now to at them look. 
For the precepts I have given to my fellow man, 
My conscience tells me I shall be damed. 
Ah, many souls will into hell be thrown ! 
For embracing the doctrines I have sown. 



POEMS 



And they will my tormenters be 

Through a never-ending eternity. 

Soon I must cross that dark abyss, 

I have no pleasure in yonder world of bliss. 

It is now too late for me to pray, 

J must ''Amen" to my own damnation say. 

Oh, that I had power to plead and weep! 

I see the falsity of deaths being an endless sleep. 

A reprobate am I. I have cursed the God of earth 
and heaven ! 

There is no forgiveness for me, I cannot be for- 
given ! 

It is too late. My poor soul, I have thee undone 

By striving to vilify God's only son ! 

I did not believe what I wrote; I wrote for fame 

Thereby have I doomed my soul to endless shame, 

My hands and feet are getting cold, 

If I had strength I could not portray the horrors of 
my soul. 

I see those that were faithful unto God, 

Crossing that cold stream, and they go dry shod. 

Those angry waves do me appall. 

Having despised God, I have lost heaven, lost all. 

Of what avail are all my jolly comrades now. 

With death's cold sweat oozing from my brow? 

If I try to resent or signs of repentance give, 

They tell me to be firm and die as I have lived. 

Farewell to earth and all transitory things? 

Oh death, I feel thy dreaded sting! 

vSpare me thou unrelenting foe, 

Must I unsolaced into eternity go. 



POEMS. 79 



Vanquished at last? Death spares not me. 

No vSaviour or redeemed spirits with greetings for 

me. 
I hear his children shouting, "Victory over death !" 
But I have no refuge, alone and of hope bereft. 
Death's icy grip has reached my heart, 
My pulse has stopped, I must depart. 
Oh, my worthless life I have lived in vain, 
And my just reward is endless remorse and shame! 

Patchogue, 1S72. 



WANTED. 

Oh, for some smiling friend 
Whose smiles are not deceit, 
And a heart full of love and charity! 
I long such a friend to meet. 

I want an honest friend. 
That is honest in deed, word and look, 
And feel that their love is centered in me, 
Not in my pocket-book. 

Oh, for an honest friend 
Whose hands are not stained with theft? 
That can see things that are not their own. 
And leave them where they are left. 

I want a truthful friend 
That does disdain to lie. 
And seeks not anothers faults 
To blaze them to the skies 



80 P C EM S . 



TKurii IN k[nMK. 

Immortal truth is snrnmnded, 

It is driven to the wall. 

And liars old and young 

Fighting for its fall. 

Most men for ages past, 

Truth on the shelf have laid. 

Believing it to be a nuisance 

And a detriment to trade. 

That it elogs the wheels of traffic 

By letting light shine in 

And whispers when they are selling chaff for wheat, 

• 'To defraud is a damning sin." 

Liars are an abomination, 

Their destination is hell-fire. 

God above has so said ; 

There is no authority higher. 

With the clergy it is unpopular. 

They say that it would not pay 

To preach the truth ; it would be preposterous 

In this enlightened day. 

The majority of them preach to please 

Unscrupulous monied men. 

Whether souls are lost or saved. 

It does not trouble them. 

In fact the old, old story 

Is getting quite threadbare, 

And is offensive in a church 

Where modern professors are. 



POEMS. 81 



The man that proclaims God's word in all its purity 

The gauntlet has to run, 

And all the devil's troops are allowed 

To pelt them with their guns. 

If he fights for God's eternal truths 

And gives the devil a tight-fitting coat. 

No calls come to him with thousands a year — 

' ris a marvel if he gets a few groatvS. 

Usurer and horse jockey deacons, 

Will not listen to his upbraidings for sin. 

And if he will not preach in a theatrical style 

They tighten their purse strings on him. 

The militant church is languishing. 

And the few that do believe 

Are thrust aside to make room 

For a set of uncouth thieves. 

The oxen in amazement stood 

When Christ with cords came in 

And drove the money changers out, 

Saying, "My Father's house was built f()r prayer, 

you shall not in it sin." 
He has gone to see his Father 
And has tarried there so long, 
That Satan is polluting his sanctuary 
With ribaldry and song. 
But a remnant are watching, 
And praying night and day, 
That the author and finisher of their faith 
Will shorten his delay. 
His return is near at hand. 



POEMS. 



Ill the church he will begin. 

He will sift the chaff out of the wheat 

And destroy the man of sin. 

Shepherds that are crying peace 

Shall quail beneath his frown ; 

Into darkness they shall be hurled 

And starless will be their crowns. 

Lost souls through endless ages 

Will upbraid them in their ire, 

Because they did ntH tell them that God, 

Out of Christ was a consuming fire. 

"You greedy dogs, you preached for hire. 

We freely gave you gold ; 

You never said that God was a jealous God, 

His love was all you told. 

You were a vaunting set of scape-graces. 

Without God's call or knowledge ; 

You went and learned to pray and preach by note 

Where Satan kept a college ; 

Y'ou lead a life of voluptuous ease ; 

We purchased the highest pews. 

And yr)U preached to please our ears. 

And we unwittingly applauded you; 

Your cloak had the form of Godliness . 

It hid the Creator from our view. 

And the creature you taught us to worship 

Witnessed swiftly against us and you. 

The subject of retribution you ignored 

Predicting for us fair weather. 

Its because you ker^t back part of the price, 



POEMS. 83 

We are all here in hell together?" 

These are perilous times in whieh we live ; 

In lieu of truth men believe in lies, 

And cunningly devised fables 

Does all their wants supply. 

The day is fast approaching 

When immortal truth shall rise 

x\nd the few that have lived it 

Shall have mansions in the skies. 

Patchogue, May 30th, 1S73. 



■•^^->.CS^.^.. 



84 POEMS. 



'UOR MAN. 



A poor man in this world has little chance; 

Though well he pipes there are few to dance; 

liis voice if raised is seldom heard, 

Thou^jh wisdom flows in every word. 

A poor, wise man of old saved the city. 

But his name is not told in sont^ or ditty; 

A poor man will puzzle his brains for years. 

And invoke heaven's aid with prayers and tears 

To perfect an invention and bring it about, 

But artful and bold, the man of m.uch gold 

Is sure to step in, with the wages of sin, 

And get the patent out. 

Rich men thrive on poor men's muscle and brains; 

There lies the secret of their gains; 

Here the rich by the potent aid of gold out general 

the poor, 
But they will find that they and their gold will be 

out generaled at heaven's door 
When a camel goes through the eye of a needle 

with ease, 
A few of the rich may into heaven squeeze. 
Should some happen to get inside the fold 
'Twill be by the skin of their teeth we are told. 

Patchogue, August 8th, 1877. 



POEMS . 85 



THE CRUSADE. 

Cheer up sorrowing- mothers ! 

Long you have suffered wrongs, 

The race is not always to the swift, 

Or the battle to the strong. 

The prayers you have made are registered. 

Your tears are bottled up, 

In behalf of sons and husbands, 

That were slaves to the cup. 

The rumseller is ^.ccursed 

For putting the cup to his neighbor's mouth, 

And God's judgment will descend 

Upon him and all his house. 

The man that drinks rum. 

And don't for his household provide, 

Is worse than an infidel, 

Having the faith denied. 

Keep faith in lively exercise. 

Be firm in your appeals. 

Erelong the battle will be won, 

God's enemies must yield. 

Lewd men are imbeciles, 

Each year they number less; 

Soon they will not have the power 

A woman to oppress. 

God is raising up Deborahs and Joans 

To scatter wicked men's plots. 

He will work by whom he will 

Whether men acquiesce or not. 

Patchogue, May nth, 1874. 



86 POEMS 



A -JRIBUJE TO MRS. DYSON. 



Tis meet that tears bedim our eyes 

When a godly- virtuous woman dies. 

Her death was blessed, 

For she died in the Lord. 

She acted well her part here, 

Believing hereafter she would get her reward. 

She fought the good fight, 

And kept the faith ; 

Was made perfect through suffering 

By Jesus' grace. 

Triumphantly, she the victory won ; 

Here her equals are few. her superiors none. 



EPITAPH. 

Underneath this cold stone 
Lies now in silence an old maid's bones. 
Living' she vented her spite on old and young; 
No earthly power could stop her envenomed tongue. 
She would not be consoled by the Indian plan. 
That her mate was appointed, but she lost the man. 
One day as she looked at the picture of death, 
She became so enraged that she lost her breath. 
And fell into a direful swoon, 

Because the horses' legs were not encased in panta- 
loons. 
She never recovered from the shock, 
But died and was buried under this block. 

Patchogue, Nov i8th, 1887. 



POEMS. 87 



"THE FOOL HATH SAID I X HIS IIEARr THERE IS NO 
OOD." 

Does a fountain flow without a head, 
Or rivers run without a bed? 
Could ceaseless oceans ebb and flow, 
If their Creator had not ordained it so? 



THE HOMELESS ONE. 

Without a home I Despairing thoug-ht. 

For the which all my life in vain I've wrought. 

Without a home, my friends are few. 

Those I have with pity oft I view. 

It's little succor they can render me 

They too are children of penury. 

All hope now is flickering save one. 

I'll have a home beyond the tomb. 

If kind heaven so decreed, 

That I a homeless wanderer should be. 

Why was I placed upon this sphere, 

Where homeless ones are scoffed and jeered? 

I am called a fool, and crazy too. 

But God, my God will take me through. 

And with his poor afflicted people, I 

Shall have a home in the sweet by-and-bv. 



88 POEMS 



I'.K CONSISTENT. 

Be a man, or a mouse, or a long-tailed rat; 

Don't eall yourself thin while bloated and fat; 

Boast not that your soul is pure and white, 

When a glance at it shows it is blacker than night ; 

Smile not and say yes, wdien inside you mean no ; 

Turn not your coat as each wind may blow; 

If you are a Christian your fruits will show — 

Little straws tell the w^ay currents flow. 

It is the two-faced, self-styled temperance men 

That fawn on the rumseller in his den ; 

They are stumbling blocks with mouths of oil, 

Vote for rum and share the spoil. 

When such men pray for a rumseller's sin. 

The devil smiles an approving grin. 

Rumsellers and usurers are brothers and twins; 

They are in the same boat and covered with sin, 

The devil is their father, they do their work well; 

And sell soul and body for a potage of hell 

The usurer makes his poor neighbors necessity 

His own accursed opportunity. 

The rumseller destroys his neighbor's soul, body 

and all, 
But the curses come home to roost in his hall. 
The greatest saint that in glory doth dwell, 
Strove not so hard to get there as these men strive 

for hell. 



POEMS. 89 



Time hurries along"; it flits away, 

Whether we work or whether we play; 

The candle lighted will burn to the end, 

The ashes remain, the flame ascends. 

Time stalks on at a rapid pace. 

It has not, it seeks not, a resting place. 

Noiselessly it speeds, rapid is its flight, 

Adding- day unto day and night unto night. 

In its course it demolishes everything. 

The peasant and cot, the palace and king. 

The rich and the poor, the high and the low, 

Receive from Time a fatal blow. 

Onw'ard it goes demolishing all ; 

Monuments topple, towers fall. 

It buries cities from our sight. 

Grinds the rocks into powder by its might. 

Onward it goes, scythe in hand. 

Sending into oblivion the pride of man. 

Leveling all things in its rounds. 

Leaves boasting mankind to moulder in the ground. 

Patchugue, May 3rd, 1871. 



90 POEMS 



coil). 

Ah, g-old how enviable art Thou I 

Millions have, do and will at thy shrine bow. 

Art thou at par, art thou high or low? 

Thy friends will never forsake thee, no, oh no. 

Man's love for thee passeth speeeh ; 
They will for thee in roeks and caverns seek ; 
Their hearts are firmly set on thee ; 
Gold, the death of thy last friend, thou wilt never 
see ! 

Men of every clime and tongue 
Headlong after thee doth run. 
Many lose their lives in the furious race, 
But the survivors do the more warmly thee em- 
brace. 

Gold, thou wait never want for friends, 

No never, until time shall end ; 

Thou art a welcome guest at the rich or poor man"s 

door ; 
Gold, thou wilt ever hsLVXi friends, of that thou art 

sure. 

Patchogue, Nov. 2d, 1S82. 



POEMS 



A REPROOF FROM THE GRAVE OF J. T. 

True relig"ion consists in charity, 

Though dead, that boon is denied me; 

I have done with earth, full well you know, 

So a mantle of charity o'er me throw. 

A dead man craves this boon of thee. 

Comply for humanity's sake, priththee. 

Without charity a profession is vain. 

Your hearts are corrupt; your tongues untame. 

It is a sounding brass that does not warm ; 

Or a tinkling symbol, devoid of charm. 

With satisfaction, you exult and say, 

My soul to Hades has passed away. 

If such were my fate you would it bemoan 

Were your hearts not as hard as stone ; 

You would not be apt to pass sentence on me 

If from stains your own lives were free. 

Hearts are black and to Satan wed. 

That revile the living and the dead; 

He that expects mercy from devils of any kind 

Will find himself mistaken every time. 

Judge not lest ye be judged, my friend. 

As all earthly judgments will have an end; 

When none save Jehovah heard my sighs 

Have I prayed, and penitential tears dropped from 

my eyes. 
Oft I confessed my faults to God and you — 
In solitude I deplored them too, 
And Christ's promise I declared to thee 
That he would perfect what was lacking in me ; 



92 POEMS. 



True, I belonged to no earthly creed or clan. 

Yet I was a studious Bible man. 

And for the man of my counsel took 

The inspired word, the Book of Books; 

Proof positive in it I read. 

There was no repentance for the dead, 

And as the beast dies so dies man ; 

Then I mused on redemption's plan — 

A boundless theme that none can span — 

I saw that only through Christ could I be saved 

And that he had conquered death, hell and the 

grave. 
In him I trusted to the last, 
That anchor never dragged, it held me fast. 
Methinks your malice would have ceased 
When you beheld my widow's grief 
And my fatherless children weeping o'er my bier 
No, even then you withheld your tears. 
My spirit has returned to God. 
My body lies beneath the sod. 
Though my reins within me be consumed 
I shall leave this darkened tomb 
When Eden blooms, my body shall arise 
And meet my Redeemer in the skies. 
My exultation will then be, 
"Lo this is my God, I have waited for thee!" 
Speak evil of none, a just God hears, 
Let the dead rest until Christ appears. 

Patchogue, April loth, 1877. 



POEMS. 93 



GOD IS GRi: A r, MAN IS SMALL. 

Your house is ample, a mansard roof, 

Your coffers are full, your safe fire proof; 

Your path is strewn with ilowers as you go, 

And all matures whether you plant or .sow. 

If vou prosper in every worldly affair, 

Forget not God ; give thanks for His care. 

'Tho' you talk and boast as you sit at ease, 

Your own right hath not gotten you these. 

Dispense with your self sufficiency ; 

(jod ruleth above, beneath, on land and sea; 

His eye is on you, so be on your guard. 

Two by six will suffice in yon grave yard 

To hold your remains; so while living here 

Waste not your time 'tween cradle and bier. 

If you fare well and have good clothes. 

At poor friends don't turn up your nose. 

Do them good whilst you have the power; 

'Twill cheer your heart in death's trying hour. 

Give to them now, you have not long to stay ; 

You brought nothing here you can take nothing 

away. 
He valient for truth in every affair, 
Do what you do by compass and square. 
Dark deeds wdien they are brought to light, 
Are always black, they are never white. 
Don't buy a grave yard plot 
And erect a monument on the most conspicuous 

spot, 



94 POEMS 



So that after you have ceased to buy and sell, 

Your body in a princely tomb may dwell. 

The sum of all that will be said, if you do, 

Is that vour selfishness and vanity out-lived you. 

Be zealous about your soul and be wise ; 

It is of no importance where your body lies. 

Balance accounts and see how you stand ; 

Search diligently and get a clear title to that better 

land. 
Delays are dangerous; see to it before it is too late, 
And know whether the devil has a mortgage or 

filed a caveat. 
Only once can we pass through this world my friend 
Do not hoard up wealth and clog your soul to the 

end. 
Consider your ways and let fall the penitential tear, 
Lest you make shipwreck of faith and a poor mis- 
sion here. 

Patchogue, June 20th, 1876. 



POEMS. 95 



THE VORTEX. 

About the epoch of man's fall 

Our nortliern lakes became enthralled. 

O'er them a spell was cast. 

And has remaiued for ages past. 

Perchance they have eyes and will not see 

The deception practiced by Niagara 

The time is not recorded when 

She first began to draw on them. 

She hath gotten to herself a wondrous name ; 

All o'er the earth has spread her fame. 

Enshrouded in mist she stands srppreme. 

Her kind of magic draws a mighty stream. 

Flaunting her rainbows to the clouds, 

She fascinates all gazing crowds. 

You never would think that one so proud, 

So wasteful, wonton and roars so loud, 

Disdaining all minor waterfalls, 

Virtually owns not one drop of water at all. 

On Goat Island scornfully she stands 

And scatters those waters with both hands; 

Ruthlessly hurls them o'er each brink. 

The does not care and will not stop to think. 

From whence could she draw supply, 

If those northern lakes were dry. 

Those overburdened rocks down on that dark abyss 

The rays of the sun have never kissed. 

Their long drawn sighs and piercing groans 

Would melt a heart not made of stone 



96 POEMS. 



'•What care I for their g-roans," quoth she. 

"Am I not the voluptuous Niagara? 

I will cast around the mazes of my sheen. 

So that the worthies of earth are seldom seen ; 

Men of every clime and tongue, 

Headlong after me doth run ; 

Thousands lo.se their lives in the furious race. 

But the survivors do as warmly me embrace : 

Their wives and daughters often weep, 

At lonely vigils they have to keep ; 

Whilst husbands, lovers and I 

Sleep sweetly in carnal security. 

These will find out too late 

That my love is feigned, they have my hate. 

When I have exhausted their store, 

And they cannot lavish on me more, 

Wives and daughters may cheer their dying hours 

I will drain others of wealth, health and power. 

Once under my siren spell 

There-is no reprieve, I will bind them well. 

Kings by me have lost their power 

In the space of one short hour; 

Their crowns from their heads I have tcn-n. 

And boldly placed them on my owm ; 

Their bosom of all secrets I unbear. 

As they gape at me with mouth ajar; 

I lay my plans as I go along. 

Singing sweetly to them enchanting songs : 

What I plan I carr}^ through 

My tears fall as fast as morning dew. 



POEMS. 97 



Feign offence and strike them in a rage, 

They fawn and kneel like a whipped page. 

I take health, wealth, take all, 

And care not two straws when they fall : 

Virtue, truth and fidelity 

Have long held rivalship with me. 

Underneath my power they must lie 

Hidden away from my lover's eyes. 

Myriads that admiringly gaze on me. 

In them a greater charm might see ; 

My reign would end that is a certainty. 

Should they get into fashionable society ; 

I know hereafter they will me ontvie, 

They are born of immortality; 

I might have been as pure and chaste as they, 

But I willed it not, I chose the forbidden way. 

After the last sands of my life are run, 

I shudder to think of my final doom. 

On God we cannot throw the blame 

He gave us wills, our passions to restrain. 

My lov^ers and I do will it so. 

To have an unholy fill of lust below. 

We need not thus unbridle our lusts, 

Jt is as we will it if we are brought to a crust. 

Alas, few will sigh or weep. 

When slowly our corpse is carried through the street I 

Our names will rot, not worthy of note or song. 

For defiling God's tabernacle, knowing it to be 

wrong. 
Our bodies will be buried from mortal eyes, 



98 POEMS 



And our spirits go to the giver in the skies. 
An awful retribution we must expect, 
For the great salvation we neglect. 
In judgment our heads will hang upon our breasts; 
(3n our foreheads written, "the adulterer and adult- 
eress." 
Be gone maddening thought! Avaunt, prithee! 
With you I will not hold reverie. 
O. misery, misery, fetch me wine! 
Come spirits, that are congenial with mine; 
I will have my fill, the present shall suffice for me! 
Yea, all gallants shall homage pay with bended knee, 
And bring choice gifts to enchanting Niagara. 
As unwittingly as the ox to the slaughter goes 
Will they their all on me bestow. 
These waters above, I will whirl and dash below. 
Here none shall discretion know. 
My mystifying wand I will flourish aloft, 
At all misery I cause I will laugh and scoff; 
The genie of morals, I will extinguish her taper; 
Conscience, I will drown with hilarious vapors. 
The pious make fruitless efforts my ways to span, 
I care not. fear not, love not, God or man. 
I will blind, madden, and enthrall, 
Until my throne totters and my empire falls. 
Pity? None pity me, I'll not pity show, 
But will scatter desolation as I go. 
Those lakes adroitly wrought my shame ; 
I now gloat at their dying pains. 
I'll press them hard and will not stop, 
Until I have drawn out their last drop. 



POEMS 



When I have bankrupts of them made, 

I doubt not they will come to me for aid, 

And like whipped spaniels crouch at my feet 

Expecting- to receive water, bread and meat. 

My day of triumph is nigh ; 

As they have made their beds so let them lie ; 

I'll tell them they should have housed their waters 

And kept the vows they made at the hymenial alter. 

I have no more commands, in vain they sue. 

Begone I Adieu!" 

Patchogue, Sept. i6th, 1874. 



100 POEMS 



WRITTEN TO COMFORT MY COUSIN BETSY M. SMITH. 

Dear Bet, though all your earthly friends fail you, 

You to yourself may still remain true ; 

Your heavenly father will never forsake thee ; 

He will sustain you all the way through ; 

Though each day some new trial for you has its 

birth, 
And the castles that you build are brought to the 

earth, 
If all proves abortive whatever you do, 
Is there not a small voice whispereth, "He careth 

for you?" 
The things of this earth are only glittering toys; 
In them can be found no true lasting joys. 
They cause our thoughts to wander when striving 

to pray, 
And they put far off the evil day. 
You know not now, but hereafter shall know. 
Why all your endeavors prove sorrow and woe. 
Dear child of affection I hope, that when your last 

sands do run, 
You will be ready to go. yes, joyfully home; 
When on your brow death's cold damp is set. 
May the pearly gates open to receive you, dear Bet; 
Your eyes will be closed on all that here caused you 

pain, 
Your last battle will be fought and the victory gained . 

Patchogue, Jan. iSth, 1868. 



POEMS. 101 



I'lll-: RICH CHRISTIAN AND THE POOR ONE. 

One pleasant morn at Sharon ville 
Tlie sun shone bright o'er plain and hill ; 
All nature seemed to smile and say, 
"What a glorious Sabbath day!" 

The birds were happy in the boughs, 
Singing songs — God taught them how; 
A beautiful lesson they teach man, 
Warbling forth praise to the great I Am. 

The bells were tolled with a right good will, 
Inviting the inhabitants to church at Sharonville, 
Echoing, "six days you have for work. 
This is the seventh, come to church." 

Being a stranger in that town 

I entered a friend's meeting and sat down; 

Taking a seat near the door, 

I scanned the audience, the rich and poor. 

Silence for a short time reigned. 

Then slowly rose a buxom dame ; 

She said her heart was full of thankfulness, 

For being present her feelings to express. 

"I don't see how folks can unthankful be ; 

I trust in God ; he with-holds no good thing from me. 

I thank him for all I have and am. 

Yes, for everv breath of air. 



102 POEMS 



"He has to me the assurance o-iven 

That I shall wear an immortal crown in heaven ; 

I have not a doubt that he hwes me. 

I'^'or all my life he has given me prosperity. 

"I hurry my maid with her works and cares, 

So she can dress me neat and comb my hair; 

I order my carriage at half past nine, 

For I will be here in ample time. 

••I will come to church, I have all things arranged, 

Why all do not come to God's house, to me it is 

strange. 
Oh it is delightful, thank God I am here, 
I shall reach heaven I have not a doubt or a fear." 

In a retired corner another soon arose. 

With angelic features, gray hair and spotless clothes ; 

Her voice was sweet, subdued its tones. 

And on her brow truth .sat enthroned. 

vShesaid,"my heart feels sad and lonely in my breast. 
But I do feel thankful for a day of rest ; 
All the week I have worked for Mary Round 
She has just given her testimony and sat down. 

"As I was putting on my hat to go away 

Mar}- said, 'come next week Eliza and get thy pay,' 

I told her I had but little meal wherewith to make 

bread. 
'I cannot attend to any more business this week 
Eliza', she said. 



POEMS . 103 



"She would forego worldly affairs for the week. 
To-morrow will be the Sabbath, she intended to 

speak. 
She must have rest and compose her thoughts 
So that she would speak wisely and just as she ought. 

"I do not wish to speak disparagingly of Mary 

Round, 
She is noted for piety through the town, 
Has always had a well provisioned home, 
Her stomach loathes a honey comb. 

<'A rich man's daughter, a rich man's wife, 
She never toiled for a cent in her life, 
Never had the meal in the barrel low. 
Or oil in the cruse so spent it could not flow. 

"In love and gratitude to God she says she is wed ; 
Supposing her soul was in my soul's stead ; 
Would she be so full of love and gratitude, 
If things were reversed and she stood in my shoes? 

"I do not doubt the goodness of God in all his ways. 
Or I should not have walked three miles to meet- 
ing to-day ; 
But why he turns all sweets into gall for me, 
Is one of his great mysteries into which I cannot 
see. 

"I hope that when I have had my share of earthly 

ills. 
That god will resign me to his holy will ; 
And when I cease to have a will of my own, 
His mysteries to me he will make known. 



104 POEMS 



"No, I do not doubt my faith is implicit in Gcd 
Though all my life I have felt his chastening rod; 
My husband, years ago, was summoned away, 
My only child was born a cripple, he is one to-day. 

"I have always taught my son to say, 

Thank God for everything, come what may ; 

The other day I remained silent when he hobbled 

in to me, 
'Thank God, mother, the cow is dead," said he. 

"The weather it was getting cold 

I intended with the money from butter I sold, 

To have laid every cent of it by 

And bought coal and wood, for winter was nigh. 

"Most of you have known me for years, 
I have worked for nearly every family here; 
You remember the year the cholera raged 
And I was left fatherless and motherless at a tender 
age? 

"This morning I kneaded all the flour I had into a 

cake 
Put it into the oven and watched it as it slowly baked, 
I thought that when Eben and I ate it, it was the 

last 
And until God sent us more he and I must fast. 

"Our breakfast was meagre, little I took: 
My child had such an emaciated look, 
I felt anxious, weary and sad? 
A mother's heart yearned o'er the lad. 



POEMS. 105 



"I asked a blessing heartily o'er that meal, 
Oh God, thou knowest just how I feel ; 
Make the oil and flour hold out, 
Thou art the widows' God I do not doubt. 

1 was thinking; of God's dealings with me as I came 

along, 
The enemy bade me leap into the river and end my 

wrongs ; 
I knelt neath the shade of those old pine trees 
And prayed the Lord to strengthen and give me 

victory. 

"Fight for me; let temptations flee away; 
Help me with Thy servant Job to say, 
'Though thou slay me yet will I in thee trust. 
Thou art God I am but dust.' 

"Strengthened I rose and looked around. 
And lo, a little way off upon the ground 
This ten dollar gold piece you all may see ; 
Does anyone doubt God sent it to me? 

"He has succored me in many a trying hour; 
In answer to prayer I can now buy oil and flour : 
Full I return though empty I came. 
Blessed forever be his name!" 

Fatchogue, March 22nd, 1871. 



106 POEMS 



QUERY. 

There is a mystery 

That I should like to solve, 

Why a sinner after he is dead, 

Should have a lying gravestone at his head. 

In the village churehyard 
Where many sinners lie, 
Why, nearly all the epitaphs 
About the dead do lie. 

It is only mocking God 

By putting up such lies. 

For when he comes to raise the dead. 

They will be the last to rise. 



AN EFirAPH. 



Step lightly and let fall a tear 
For an honest man lies entombed here. 
He lived and died poor but not unwise; 
Although he had no treasure here 
He had one in the skies. 

Patchogue. August 4ih, 1875. 



POEMS. 107 



GENTLK KA'IRINA. 



Come my gentle Katrina, go with me 
To California's shore! 
Those mines are never-ending. 
They are full of golden ore. 

I know the thought of parting 
With those we hold most dear, 
Will ring our hearts with anguiish^ 
And unbidden will come the tears. 

But my arms are strong, my heart is brave, 
I was not born to be poverty's slave ; 
We will go to Columbia, 'tis freedoms shore, 
And I will soon drive poverty from our door. 

Come, my gentle Katrina. listen to my pleadings, 
For 'tis the purest love inspires my speaking ; 
Venture now your all with me 
And we will cross the raging sea. 

Come, my darling, go with me ! 
Here we shall have naught but want and poverty 
I will shake those mountains through a sieve 
That we in comfort soon may live. 

Patchogue, 1S72. 



108 POEMS. 



RUTH. 

'Tis many years, my dearest Ruth, 
Since our last interview; 
I went away with blighted hopes 
And left my heart with you, 

Tis said that absence conquers love, 
But, dear Ruth, it is not true, 
For what have 1 not done 
To divert my thoughts from you. 

It was when I knew, dear Ruth, 
That you and I must sever, 
I lost all hope of earthly happiness 
Nor have I found it ever. 

The reason I loved you Ruth, 
I never could one give. 
But you are all the world to me ; 
Without you how can I live? 

The ocean oft has rolled between 
You and me, dear Ruth, 
I must see you once more before I die. 
Cost what it will in truth. 

I have been in foreign climes 

And seen things old and new. 

But my thoughts would wander back. 

My dearest Ruth, to you. 



POEMS. 109 



I have been on mountains highest peaks 
Among the ice and snow, 
To stop this endless thinking, 
But alas its been no go. 

I have been in lurid climes, 
Where the rills were scorched and dry, 
But my cheeks with tears for you were wet. 
And bitter were my sighs. 

I have traveled for my health I've said. 
But it was all a blind, 
A hopeless love is my complaint 
For the girl I left behind. 

Patchogue, August 22d, 1874. 



STOMACH-ACHE. 

I've had an aching heart and a throbbing brain. 
But they are no comparison to my present pain. 
An oath I can conscientiously take, 
That no other pain is as excruciating as stomach- 
ache. 

For days I have had no rest, 

The doctors have almost physicked me to death ; 

All night long I lay awake 

With this tormenting stomach-ache. 

If I do not find relief 
I shall die with pain and not with grief. 
I care not where my spirit shall itself betake. 
If it only reaches a land where there is no stomach- 
ache. 



110 POEMS 



HANNAH S KAITH. 

When pious Hannah of old was won't to pray 

vShe exercised faith in the bidden way ; 

She prayed in her heart, no voice was heard, 

By faith, she in silence took (rod at his word. 

In bitterness of soul in secret she prayed 

That God would take her reproach away ; 

She asked not for gold, nor silver, nor acres of sod 

But a child that she might dedicate to God. 

She prayed to God to give her a son. 

She prayed in faith and it was done. 

God witnessed her sorrow and answered her prayer, 

For next year with joy young Samuel she bore. 

wShe believed without doubting that God's word 

was true. 
Ask whatsoever you will in faith it shall be done 

unto you, 
When mothers complam that their prayers are not 

heard 
Do they exercise faith as told in his word? 
The prayers of faith will never fall to the ground. 
Though it may not be answered until years roll 

around. 



P © EM s . m 



CHILD OF SORROW. 

Child of sorrow upwards look, 
Though oft you taste the bitter eup, 
Jesus knows it all ; 
He drank the wormwood and the gall. 

Child of sorrow, upward look. 
Though drain you must the bitter cup ; 
Jesus, he is good and wise, 
He sends 5^our blessings in disguise. 

Child of sorrow, upward look, 
Your name is registered in his book ; 
Though torn and bruised like a reed, 
Jesus, he did for you bleed. 

Child of sorrow, upward raise your eyes, 
Your prayers and tears have reached the skies : 
Jesus, he does for you care, 
You his glory soon shall share. 

Child of sorrow, soon you will find rest, 
Yes, in heaven you will be blest ; 
Beyond the reach of care and pain 
There the whole story will be explained. 

Patchogue, July 7th, 1867. 



112 POEMS 



MV c;()i). 



Oh God, my God, of Thee I'll sing. 
My ever thoughtful friend ; 
I alone on Thee depend ; 
Thou wilt keep me to the end. 

Oh God, my God, I will Thee extol, 
Thy mercies to me are manifold ; 
I will of Thy goodness tell. 
For Thou doeth all things well. 

Oh Gcd, my God, that dwells on high, 
Will never poor, unworthy me pass by. 
Thou dost succor me when in need. 
And me as well as hungry ravens feed. 

Oh God. my God, of Thee I'll boast, 

Thou art my kind and loving host. 

Thou knowest whereof I stand in need. 

Thou never doth send me away empty when I plead. 

Oh God, my God, in what deplorable state I'd be, 
If I could not unburden mv heart to Thee! 
Oh God, my God, I will bless Thy name, 
Thou never didst me once disdain 1 

Patchogue, Feb. I2th, 1866. 



POEMS. 113 



EVES. 

Some rave over black eyes, some die for blue, 
But the truth to tell, do you see ; 
It is a pair of dark hazel eyes 
Played the mischief with me. 

The girl that carries those eyes around, 
Has a turn-up nose and her hair is brown ; 
That makes no difference to me. 
It is her dark hazel eyes that fascinate me. 

Her ancestral tree I need not ascend 
For I know that it has wax at the other end ; 
'Tis not her station that I am after you see. 
But those dark hazel eyes to solace me. 

Love is a queer thing anyhow. 
So said the old woman when she kissed her cow 
I don't care what people may think or say, 
I'll marry that girl without delay. 

Patchogue, March 5th, 1875. 






114 POEMS 



A HYMN. 

I know that my Redeemer lives, 

What joy the blest assurance gives! 

He will stand on the earth on that great day. 

Then all sorrow and sighing shall flee away. 

Though after, worms, this body destroy. 
It shall be quickened again with immortal joy 
For years it may slumber beneath the sod. 
It shall rise renewed with all the life of God. 

Though my reins within me be consumed, 
I shall leave the cold dark tomb ; 
When Eden blooms my body .shall arise. 
And join my soul in Paradise. 

There I shall my Saviour see, 

Who bled and died on Calvary, 

Though often here I feel his chastening rod. 

Yet in my flesh I shall see God. 



When you knock for admittance at heaven's door, 

St. Peter will not ask whether you were rich or poor ; 

Nor if you were unlearned or well read. 

Or did you sleep on straw or a downy bed : 

Nor if you rode in a coach and four. 

Or if you walked till your feet were calloused and 

sore ; 
Nor if you were remembered or forgot. 
Or if you dwelt in a palace or a cot ; 
Only one question will he ask you then. 
"Did you fear God or men?" 



POEMS. 115 



When scorpion foes and friends assail 
And hope and truth and mercy fail, 
Nor earth, nor ocean hath a lair, 
Then high to heaven raise thy prayer. 

When all earthly props are gone, 

And thou art forsaken and forlorn, 

Then in faith on Israel's God rely. 

He will shelter thee till the storms pass by. 

When thy sorrow is so deep it brings thee low, 
And pent up tears refuse to iiow. 
Then pray with all thy power and might. 
And God will surely bring all things right. 

When filled with despair to the brink. 
And thou like Peter of old are beginning to sink 
Then pray without doubting, the answer will be, 
"My grace is sufficient for thee." 

He who can forgive sin and save the soul 
Doth all our earthly ills control ; 
This promise hath he given to thee, 
"As thy day is so shall thy strength be." 



116 POEMS 



HONFST TOM. 

My friends have often railed at me 

And said that in my brains there was a deficieney 

Because I had no tact to acquire gold. 

Oh, the love of the root of all evil 

Sends many unwise souls to the devil I 

They know that I worked early and late 

And tried hard to win some favors of fate; 

Yes, I tried long to secure some gold. 

It is a tempting prize; 

But never could I forget that God had eyes, 

A man who will not take a bribe, nor one give, 

Is generally poor as long as he lives ; 

To receive flattery by this enlightened race, 

A man must scar his conscience and brass his face ; 

A tender conscienceis fast going out of fashion ; 

Gold is the god that is worshiped, it is the ruling 

passion. 
I do most fervently my God implore 
To open to me some unseen door; 
I ask not silver nor gold. 
But wisdom and knowledge manifold, 
So that I may do, say or write something 
Before I am dead. 
To show them that I had brains, 
When by my brains they are fed, 

Patchogue, 1SS3. 



POEMS. 117 



A HYMN. 

Oh, why should I repine 
Or mourn my humble lot, 
When he who owns the universe 
Has never me forgot? 

Oh, why should I repine 

At trials by the way, 

"When he who spoke this world from naught, 

Has said. "I will wipe all tears away?" 

Oh, why .should I rephie 
Because the rich treat me with scorn, 
When for him who reigns above. 
They plaited a crown of thorns? 

Oh, why should I repine 
At meagre fare or purse, 
When he who reigns above 
Endured hunger, cold and thirst? 

Oh, why should I repine 
Or think menial work unmeet, 
When he who reigns above 
Washed the de.sciples' feet? 

Patchogue, August 1870. 



118 POEMS 



AUNT MAKCRlil TK 1 1 U IX'H I N( iSON. 

Aunt Margrette is getting old 
But is very kind and clever; 
vShe has a notion of her own 
That she will marry, never. 

The artful men come smiling round 
With words as sweet as honey, 
She says they don't know what love is, 
They love her htmie and money. 

She .says that she will live in peace, 
No man shall be her master. 
She will take her snuff and drink her tea, 
And die some fine dav of laughter. 



MY COUSIN KATE. 

Dear cousin Kate. I miss thee, 

Thy absence I deplore ; 

I havj no friend to share my joy or grief. 

As thou didst heretofore. 

My consin Kate, I miss thee, 
And thy cheering hopeful words 
Oft-times new life in me inspired. 
My inmost soul hast stirred. 

My cousin Kate, I miss thee, 
I was loath with thee to part. 
Though thou art far off removed. 
Thy image is enshrined in my heart. 

Patchogue, 1S79. 



POEMS. 119 



MV UNCI.K (JARkF/l'IK. 

Fortune is sure to frown on ine 
No matter liow hard I try; 
Sometimes 1 lay my burdens down 
And take a good old cry. 

When tears and sighs liave given reliel 

I take it up amain. 

And with redoubled energy. 

Dame fortune I court again. 

I eat the bread of carefulness 
Few hours I take for rest, 
But my purse is never full, 
I am with want oppressed. 

Although my purse is never full 
And fortune o'erthrows my plans, 
If folks never say that I am rich. 
They do say that I am an honest man. 



HAPP\- THoucurrs. 

The sun is going down behind the hill; 

Twilight will soon be o'er. 

And I am sitting here alone, 

Within this pleasant bower ; 

I muse and think of those I love. 

That here I shall see no more, 

And of our joyous meeting 



120 POEMS. 

When I land on the everj^reen shore ; 

I long for that home of the blest, 

Here mv sorrow finds no end, all is unrest, 

'There eare, turmoil and strife will eease 

And Christ will preside the Prince of Peace; 

I languish and pine to go. 

To that country where peace forever flows ; 

There doubts and fears cannot me oppress; 

There I shall find rest, eternal rest; 

Oh what a change it will be for me, 

When I have crossed life's troubled sea. 

To leave this hull, weatherbeaten and riven, 

And embrace those I loved again in heaven ! 






POEMS. 121 



BROKEN IDOL, 

What heart so sad as mine, 

Its idol broken on its shrine? 

Filled with blighted hopes and bitter wrongs, 

Jt o'erflows with dismal song. 

Cheer up, cheer tip my sorrowing heart. 

Thou of earth's ills must have thy part I 

There will be rest for the poor weary eyes. 

In that bright land beyond the skies; 

Look aloft feeble body, sorely thou art tried, 

One promise will not fail thee, the Lord will provide 

Be cheerful, for I have often heard say. 

That the darkest hour of night is just before the day. 

Though wracked with pain, wait patiently. 

Soon the balm of Gilead will be given thee ; 

Honest hands. hadst not thou been unused to wrongs. 

Thou never would have penned this .song. 



^^ 



122 POEMS 



THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 



That dear old house by the roadside 

With its moss covered roof so slant and hl^rh. 

It is the place where I was born, 

'Tis there I hope to die. 

That dear old house and around 
Seems sacred unto me, 
For there my worthy father 
First felled the forest tree. 

That dear old house ! It has withstood 
The storms of many years, 
Although it is weather beaten, 
It's not a whit less dear. 

As o'er the past my memory strays. 
Each childhood scene doth rise. 
My heart then fills near breaking. 
And tears bedim my eyes. 

That dear, old-fashioned home, 
I .shall love it alway, 
For there my precious mother 
First taught me how to pray. 

Those grand weeping willows 

That cast their shades around ; 

The birds are singing in their boughs, 

Oh, how I love the sound! 

There is not a spot upon this earth 
Could so enchain my heart, 



POEMS. 123 



For at one thought of leaving, 
The tears will quickly start. 

I love the very stones upon the ground, 
Each shrub both low and high, 
And the little crystal brook 
That is running slowly by. 

Kings and Queens are welcome 
To all that's grand and showey, 
But give me my dear old forest home 
And I'll be in my glory. 

A palace with all its splendors 

Would as nothing seem to me, 

For my heart and thoughts would wander back, 

My dear old home, to thee I 

Patchogue, June 14, 1876. 



124 POEMS 



A VALENTINE. 

Yeans ago, my dear John D., 

You sent a valentine to me; 

Laid within its fold so neat 

Was a moss rose and some heads of wheat ; 

I placed that love token 

In a frame behind a glass, 

And have kept it as a sacred 

Memento of the past. 

I have lived in hopes the time would be, 

When you and I would both be free ; 

Oh, how I hate cruel fate, 

Because it you and I did separate ! 

John, you never knew 

How my heart has yearned for you. 

Your feelings since then may have changed, 

But mine have not, they are just the same. 



A .SINNER S CONFESSION. 

My God, I have Thy goodness proved, 

Thou art without a flaw ; 

Before I was chastised 

I could not understand Thy law. 

I was a crooked twig, 

But thou would have me straight; 

Oh, how unreconciled was 1 1 

I thought my heart would break. 

Thou didst take my choicest limbs 



POEMS. 125 



Until every one was gone ; 

No earthly power could soothe my grief 

I was so stripped and shorn. 

As o'er me the cloud of vengeance stood. 

I tried to read Thy book ; 

Quick as the lightnings flash it said 

"Why don't you upwards look?" 

I fell upon my knees and prayed, 

Looked tremblingly to heaven ; 

There my Saviour smiling stood ; 

He said I was forgiven. 

He gave me heavenly light. 

It did iny mind illumine ; 

Then clearly I saw the reason why 

I had been so closely pruned. 



When I survey the past 

And think on youthful days, 

My heart in silent prayer ascends 

To Him that kept my ways. 

My sands of life are running fast. 

Soon the last ones will have past. 

Then repentence will be too late — 

Earth and I must separate ; 

My spirit it must upwards rise, 

To join its giver in the skies ; 

My body will sleep in mother earth, 

Until my redeemer calls it forth. 

Patchogue, May 2nd, 1871. 



26 POEMS 



LOVELY EVES SO HRKiH T. 

The morn may forget 

To unbar the gates of light, 

But I never, never can forget 

Those lovely eyes so bright. 

The sun may forget to shine 

And withold its genial light, 

But I never, never can forget 

Those lovely eyes so bright. 

The moon may forget 

That it is empress of the night, 

But I never, never can forget 

Those lovely eyes so bright. 

The stars may forget 

To cheer the dreariness of night, 

But I never, never can forget 

Those lovely eyes so bright. 

The lamb may forget, and after the wolf pursue 

In its innocent delight, 

But I never, never can forget 

Those lovely eyes so bright. 



POEMS. 127 



1 HE SINNER S FRIEND. 



Jesus Christ, the son of God, 

When on this sin cursed earth he trod, 

Did he own land? No, not a rod. 

Poverty and suffering was his lot, 

Gold and silver he had not; 

Poorly clad and scantily fed. 

He had not where to lay his head ; 

Because they thought him of lowly birth 

The masses considered him of little worth ; 

He, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, 

Was scoffed at by the ungodly hords ; 

He saw a ransom must be given 

To appease the wrath of heaven. 

He took upon him human woes. 

That fallen man might find repose. 

On sinful man God's face did frown, 

But Jesus laid his glory down 

He said, "Father let this suffice. 

I will be thy sacrifice." 

He healed the sick and raised the dead, 

The hungry with bread and fish were fed ; 

To sightless eyes he gave them sight. 

He calmed the raging sea at night ; 

The winds and waves were at his will ; 

He said, "be calm" and they were still. 

He w^as a man of sorrow and accjuainted with grief. 

And planned redemption for our relief; 

Laid down his life and received it aeain. 



128 POEMS 



And now the advocate of sinners reigns 

The earth is his footstool, high heaven his throne 

The humble believer he will never disown ; 

His name through all ages shall ring; 

He died the Godman and rose a King. 

Now he is exalted to heaven's highest estate, 

Angels and cherubims on him do wait. 

Oh, endless theme! oh, boundless love! 

To leave those realms of bliss above. 

And on the cross he said with a smile, 

"My father and sinners are reconciled." 

Patchogue, April iSth, 1872. 



POEMS. 12 9 



SI'KING. 

The sun is coming north, 
Once more the welkin rings 
With little birds that sing for joy 
Again to welcome Spring. 

The icy bands that bound the brooks 
The sun has broke in twain ; 
Now they go gushing forth 
To welcome Spring again. 

The ivvs their leaves have unfurled 
Their blossoms too are seen. 
Now they send forth their sweet perfume 
x^gain to welcome Spring. 

The sportive lambs do run and skip 
Upon the grass so green : 
All nature smiles with life anew 
Who does not welcome Spring? 



>^ 



130 POEMS 



jKSUS OF NAZAKK Til. 

Who was it, when I was stripped and shorn 

And those J loved from me were torn, 

And I spent my days and nights in sighs and groans, 

Until reason was well nigh dethroned ; 

Said that He wouhi be my friend, 

And the eom forte r to me He would send, 

And that the sorrows of earth would have an end, 

But I must be reeoneiled to Gori, 

That it was for my good He sent the rod? 

It was Jesus of Nazareth. 

When friends refused a listening ear. 

Or to drop one sympathizing tear. 

And unfeelingly on the other side passed by, 

Who was it then that did me espy, 

Came and listened to all I had to say 

And gently wiped my tears away ; 

Told me that what was mysterious liere to me 

Would all be explained in eternity? 

It was Jesus of Nazareth. 

When I was tossed from shoal to shoal 

And a longing for death had seized my soul. 

Who was it said, "eheer up, your anchor will hold," 

And snatched me from the grip of despair 

And told me about a country fair; 

That the tried ones of earth were sure to get there? 

It was Jesus of Nazareth. 



POEMS. 131 



When I stood on the brink of Hell, 

And my hand a deadi}^ poison held. 

Who was it soothed my over-taxed brain, 

And heaven's dealino-s with me explained. 

And said that for me He onee was slain, 

But through tribulations deep I would heaven j^ain ! 

It was fesus of Nazareth. 

When the enemy came on like a flood 
And I eoukl not his fury h)no- withstood. 
Who was it said, "little heart be brave," 
And at onee His standard raised, 
Gave me a helmet, sword and shield 
To drive the enemy from the field? 
It was Jesus of Nazareth. 

Who said that He would show my feet the way, 

And in life and in death He would be my .stay. 

But I must fight and pray and pray and fight 

And stand for truth with all my might; 

That His grace was sufiieient for me. 

If I was faithful to the end I would eonquerer be 

It was Jesus of Nazareth. 

:hogue, June 2nd, 1S76. 



F^l^hog 

V 



132 POEMS 



TkllU'TK TO MV UROIIIKR, r.RK\VSI'KR SMIIII, DIKD 

oc:i()BER i6rii, 1840. 

That dear old bell upon the shelf, 
How oft I have heard its call I 
And when a little youngster, 
I'd scamper throug-h the hall. 

And to the dining room would hie. 
Then seek my little chair 
And seated by my father's side. 
What knew I then of care? 

There was no empty seat. 
For we were all at home ; 
We were a happy family 
And had no wish to roam. 

Yes, we were all there, 
Father, mother, sisters and brothers. 
We sought each other's happiness 
For we all loved one another. 

My father asked God's blessing, 
My mother poured the tea. 
And our childhoods years were spent 
In sweet felicity. 

But cruel death, it did invade 
Our peaceful, happy home; 
It slew the pride of our flock 
And laid him in the tomb. 



POEMS. 133 



That empty chair that's for him set, 

He never more will fill ; 

Death made the breach so wide 

None save God can mend or has the skill, 

But we have one cheering thought 
That helps to dry the tears ; 
In heaven above w^e hope to meet 
Our brother dear. 

Patchogue, July 4th, 1878. 



MEMORIAL TO MV HUSBAND, DK. JOHN LOUTHIAN 
ROBERTS. 

Oh John, dear departed shade I 

Most twenty-eight years hast thou lain in the grave. 
Why I lived or how I lived I do not know, 
After receiving such a heavy blinding blow. 

My love and pride in thee found full scope, 
Death put a period to thy life and all my hopes; 
And all aircastles and plans that w^e had laid 
Were demolished and hid in the depths of the grave. 

I never can forget that bright May morn 
Thou wentest away with that patriotic throng ; 
Manfully didst thou respond to thy country's call, 
Laid everything upon its altar — thy life, thy all. 



134 POEMS. 



To-day I visited thy resting place for an hour 
And saw thy comrades strew thy grave with flowers ; 
The flag thou didst prize and hold so dear — 
A new one waves o'er thy head each year. 

Oh John, the idol of my soul ! 
Dost thou my loneliness behold? 
When a few more short years have flown, 
I shall join thee in yon bright home. 

When sleep relieves my loneliness 
In pleasant dreams thou dost me caress; 
But when the morning brings the light 
Thou dost gently vanish from my sight. 

My John, dear departed shade ! 

Erelong I shall near thee be laid ; 

True love can never die, 

It is born of immortality ; 

Although thou art on high and I on earth 

Our love had an immortal birth. 

Patchogue, May 30th, 1893. 



POEMS. 135 



A POOR CHRISTIAN. 

Why do I want to stay 

On this terrestrial ball? 

Here the rich own all the land, 

And the poor have none at all. 

They are self-sufficient 

Forgetting God on high ; 

On their houses and their lands, 

They do confidingly rely. 

My greatest fault is poverty, 

Oft-times I have been told 

By the owners of the sod 

Whose only God is gold. 

I know across the stream. 

My Saviour smiling stands, 

Saying, "you weary child come home. 

And claim the promised land."' 

There I would have a home 

That on earth I am denied ; 

There, freed from care and sorrow dwell 

Close to my Saviour's side ; 

There is a house not made with hands 

For me to occupy ; 

Why do I cling to earth ? 

Why do I fear to die? 

Patchogue, April I3:h, 1870. 



136 POEMS 



TO THE CLERGY. 

Rare are the times in which we live, 
The preacher's cry is give, give, give! 
He comes to us with his cane and kids, 
vSaying, "make ready a mansion that I may live." 
His wardrobe must be elaborate in every way, 
For the which we have to pay. 
His table must groan with viands rare. 
Who sweats to provide them he does not care. 
When he makes his debut you may be sure 
He will give us all a call, the rich and the poor. 
His first visit o'er I tell you what. 
The poor does not claim his attention after that, 
His sermons are stale, devoid of power, 
Preaches and prays in less than an hour. 
He rattles off both at a rapid gait 
Giving ample time to pass the plate. 
His paramount thoughts are not about our souls, 
But in lieu how much money will those plates hold. 
Then he speaks as one having authority, 
"If you have been freely converted give freely to me 
And if you would make sure heaven to gain 
Why should a cent in your purse remain?"' 
He wants the homage that we should to Jehovah pay 
And pockets all he can get in an off-hand way. 
His wife and children must be dressed in style. 
To clothe them all it costs a pile. 
And to educate and pamper his progeny, 
Is draining our purses dry you see. 



POEMS. 137 



The majority of them are an unscrupulous lot 

And the world would be better if they were not. 

A set of pompous self-sulScient men, 

And the Bible says that God hates them. 

It never troubles them who lives or who dies, 

But their hearts yearn for flattery, 'tis a precious 

morsel in their eyes. 
A part of one commandment they keep it is true, 
Be diligent in business, they have ever in view. 
'Tis generally the poor in every land 
That keeps the residue of that command. 
In all civilized countries the market is glut with 

men 
They have been educated to preach, but God never 

called them ; 
All of them expect to receive wealth and fame. 
But care nothing about an untarnished name ; 
To lazy to work, spurning honest toil. 
Disdaining the favours that ever on industry smiles, 
Think it a great condescension when 
They shake the honest hands of working men ; 
Boors they are to parents and society, I'll tell you 

why. 
Not worthy to live and unfit to die. 
Men that do not fear God and work here below. 
Erelong they and their names will into oblivion go. 
Worldlings know when the man of God preaches, 
That he was called of God and practices what he 

teaches. 
And that he fears a wonder working God 



138 POEMS. 



By doino his will and trembling; at his word, 
lie is tanoiu of (jod imbued with his spirit 
And a crown immortal will b;:^ given him as a re- 
ward of merit. 

Fatchogue, August 27th, 1S82. 



POEMS. 139 



I'ATCHOGUE. 

As I am alwaws travelling" around, 

Going to and fro. walking up and down, 

Not one unemployed moment have I to spare. 

I am the prince of the power of the air; 

I note all that tran.spires on earth. 

Each mortal's death and each mortal's birth ; 

Notwithstanding my unceasing care 

A little wheat grows among my tares. 

In Patchogue some of my loyal subjects dwell. 

They are not eyeservants, they do my w^ork well ; 

'Tis there my tares prolific grow, 

And a blade of wheat doth seldom show. 

The dwellers in this oasis of mine 

Serve me with all their hearts and a willing mind ; 

When the old veterans leave the stage ; 

The youngsters they have trained are of age ; 

About my ranks I have not a fear 

For they are increasing every year ; 

Eighty years ago it was an insignificant place 

No drunkards or fighters, there was little to my taste, 

I had not thought it worth while to give it a look, 

In fact it was not registered in my book. 

The scene changed and I tell you what. 

Day began to dawn for me in the way of sots, 

After mv faithful servant, Thimbleriger Czar, 

Built a gin mill and opened a bar; 



140 POEMS 



If Patchoguers will not repent they will drink to 
their sorrow. 

Refilled the same cap that was drained by Gomor- 
rah. 

She has her deacons, alas what a lot I 

Their bodies will be buried and their names will 
rot; 

They are filled with avarice and strife, the truth to 
tell, 

A says of B's going to heaven, "he wants to go to 
hell." 

Her mother was an unchaste dame, father an unlaw- 
ful sire. 

Begotten on a bed defiled she clung to muck and 
mire. 

Having serious apprehensions of not reaching heav- 
en, 

She has occasionally built a church until their num- 
ber is seven. 

When the Baptists spread the Lord's table it is fair 
to view. 

But not a crumb of bread or one drop of wine for 
you ; 

They are very particular and their creed is this, 

"Hands off unless you are an immersed Baptist." 

They and they only are going into the fold, 

And leave those that look on out in the cold. 

When the Lord's table is spread by the Catholics, 

If you do not believe just as they do you are a here- 
tic; 



POEMS. 141 



If you g-o there hungry yon will return as you went, 
They and they only will enter heaven, all others 

are hell bent. 
When the Conoregationalists spread the Lord's 

table it is free ; 
They pass the bread and wine about. 
If any eat and drink damnation to their souls 
They must see to that, it is their own lookout. 
When the Episcopalians the Lord's table spread 
They invite if you feel to partake, there is nothing 

said ; 
The\' take it for granted that you have a care 
About things eternal or you would not be there. 
When the Methodists the Lord's table spread 
The more that come the better all are fed. 
They don't trouble themselves about what you say 

or do 
If their dollars increase and the church members 

too. 
Protestants and Catholics have been quarreling for 

years 
And it has been the cause of much bloodshed and 

tears. 
Catholics believe the Virgin Mary to be the embod- 
iment of godliness, 
Therefore they prostrate themselves and worship a 

Jewess. 



142 POEMS 



Protestants nearly the same course pursue, 

They believe that Christ is all and in all and wor- 
ship a Jew. 

I wish they would shake hands and love each other, 

Be content that the P's should worship the son and 
the C's the mother. 

Mohammedans pray three times every day. 

That Christian sects may quarrel and split away. 

And never realize or become aware, 

That the more they divide the weaker they are. 

And that hatred may blind them so they cannot see. 

What a might)^ power united they would be I 

Oh that God would send an unction from above 

To teach all that the fulfilling of his law is love. 

Patchogue is a shrewd church-going dame 

She fears not God, trembles not at his name. 

Her object in going to church is the same 

As that of a little dog who runs to a fair. 

To see all the folks and show himself there. 

The appearances kept up by her and her daughter 

Will remain masked until the hereafter. 

Ocean avenue is her pride and daughter; 

She, too, is filthy and prefers rum to water. 

When women are franchised and allowed to vote 
at the polls, 

A period will be put to brewing and rum holes. 

Our country women in (me sense are no better than 
slaves, 

They must in silence pay taxes by the laws men 
have made. 

Women would not make such laws as men have made 



POEMS. 143 



That enables father, husband and son to fill a drunk- 
ards grave. 
vShe has sons, I will omit their names, 
For they never will be engraved on the list of fame ; 
They will not believe it would hinder their plans 
That God's noblest work is an honest, sober man. 
The hand of the ready writer will never pen 
Their names in the book of fame where they might 

have been. 
For breaking God's laws and setting them at naught. 
In lieu of their names there, will be nothing but 

naughts. 
Her career for nearly a century can be traced 
Cursed with squalor, drunkenness and disgrace ; 
Morals m.ostly bad I have heard it from many, 
Others say 'tis a falsehood, she never had any. 
Her heart has been filled for seventy years 
With horses, cows, bulls, and steers. 
Barns, stables, heaps of seaweed, bunkers and dung. 
No wonder poets were silent and the muse w^as dumb. 
Patehogue will never arise and shine 
Until freed from inordinate pride and wine. 
To her shame she boasts as 1 have been told 
Of eighteen places where intoxicating liquors are 

sold. 
In ten years if men would fear God and give tobac- 
co and rum a lurch. 
They would each have a home and there would be 

no debts on the church. 
The cloak of religion that Patehogue occasionally 
wears. 



144 POEMS 



Is lined with a material called earth-bound tares. 
May God soon teach her the ways of cleanliness. 
The which are the ways akin to Godliness; 
Let the tables be turned, may God turn them 
And raise up one man of wisdom to take the helm : 
May the same spirit that influenced the prophet, 

Nehemiah 
Influence hitn to change the appearance of Patch - 

ogue entire ; 
Let all good citizens acquiesce in the undertaking 
And give the village a thorough good raking; 
Lift the fallen lovers of strong drink up, 
And from their hands dash the poisonous cup; 
When men do their part God is not slow, 
His favors and blessings to bestow; 
May he succeed and make rapid headway, 
And teach all to revere God's name and hallow^ his 

day. 

Patchogue, 1S84. 



POEMS. 145 



CUPID. 

Cupid is called the God of love ; 

Perhaps his commission is from above. 

By all the monsters of earth and sea 

I wish that he had never wounded me. 

I cannot see why he should be called the 

God of love for hundreds of years. 

Alas, what mortal has he not caused 

To shed some bitter tear? 

I do not believe that he came from the .skies, 

But like other rogues is clothed in disguise. 

He is a vicious, deceitful elf, 

Makes mortals unhappy to please him.self. 

It is danger to flirt and with him play, 

Take heed young lovers to what I say. 

For years he kept full his quiver. 

He often aimed at me but only grazed my liver. 

Alas, one day as I unguardedly strayed. 

Not thinking that cupid would have me at bay, 

He bent his bow and sent a dart 

That pierced my unsuspecting heart. 

He said that long unharmed I had roamed, 

And laughed at lover's sighs and groans. 

Now that you feel true inwardness within 

Cease to call love a carnal sin. 

In lover's pains you will find there is a reality, 

For others you have no sympathy. 

"So don't ask for it and get laughed at" quoth he. 



146 POEMS 



"Those that laugh and jeer at matrimony as often 

rue. 
It is now the only door left open for you. 
You now know what the pain of lovers means." 
He danced for joy at my chagrin, 
I pled to him, but pled in vain, 
He only laughed at me again, 
And said that I was check-mated at last; 
I had better go and woo some sprightly lass. 
I begged him to remove the dart. 
And to heal my wounded heart. 
The pain increasing caused me to cry, 
He gayly clapped his wings and said good-bye. 
I pray you to be on the alert young lover ; 
Cupid unseen around you hovers. 
He is very cruel and has many wiles. 
He'll wound the deepest with his sweet smile. 

Patchogue, Nov. i8th, iS66. 






POEMS. 147 



THE REV. S. S. HUGHSON. 

The Rev. S. S. Hughson is no hog 

Though he resides in swinish Patchogue ; 

In a few words, his pigish propensities are so small, 

You must needs use a microscope to find them at 
all, 

Surely it was a behest of Heaven's grace 

That sent one unselfish man to reside in this place ; 

Those that are casting darts at him 

Would desist at once, if they would look within. 

Soon would the nations learn war no more, 

If every man swept before his own door. 

Some of his horrible rebukes are pointed 'tis true ; 

I put the coat on when it fits me, and so ought you. 

He says a man shall not eat that is not willing to 
labor, 

And 'tis a lazy man that covets what is his neigh- 
bor's. 

I was filled with admiration for his style of beg- 
gary, when, 

At the top of the list I saw, S. S. Hughson "ten." 

There's not been his like here in a long while. 

He actually gives alms with a pleasant smile. 

That is almost a new thing under the sun ; 

The reason why is because 'tis so seldom done. 

In these days of self it is indeed a rarity 

To see a smile accompanying charity. 



148 POEMS 



Recipients feel the witholdinf^- of it when they sue; 
I have felt the withdrawal of it, haven't you? 
Example is preferable to precept l)y far. 
When precept with example jars. 
He works with a will in fair or foul weather. 
(tUcss his soul and pocket-book were converted to- 
gether. 
May his garments always be spotless and white, 
'Tis the best cherries that little birds like. 

Patchogue, June 24th. 1873. 



POEMS. 149 



LINES ON RECEIVING A HAMPER OF CHOICE GROCER 
lES FROM THE CITY OF NEW YORK. 

You knew that J was weak and nervous too, 

It's self evident to me; 

So God put it in your hearts 

To send in this blaek tea. 

Who sent these fruits so rare and ehoiee. 
So many miles to me? 

Be sure that Heaven will send you more, 
Because you thought of me. 

Who sent these cans of rarities 
I want to know further of thee? 
The tears run down mv cheeks 
When 1 those things did see. 

My heart with gratitude is filled, 

I thank you o'er and o'er. 

And may your shadows never grow less 

Oh, what can I say more ! 

Patchogue, March i6th, 1877. 



150 POEMS. 



'I'HK SONG OF THE DISHCLOTH MOST AFFECTIONATE- 
LY DEDICATED TO AUNT FKEELOVE FURMAN. 

Judging, dear friend, that you will not l)rdk, 

And now and then you like plain talk, 

One thing I'll tell \ou, and it is this. 

The dishcloth you sent was welcome and not amiss. 

It is one of the most useful things under the sun, 

Proper housekeeping without it could not be done. 

Fools may prate, but the wise will say 

That it is an indespcnsable article every day. 

Let slatterns deny its potent power 

And gossip from house to house, hour after hour; 

Our dishcloths into requisition we will fetch, 

And prove that all clean housewives are not dead 

yet. 
The inventress has been dead without doubt for 

centuries ; 
Shame on her ungrateful progeny, 
That no monument has been raised to perpetuate 

her memory. 
Had she been a man, with indignation I burn, 
Why in every street, at every turn. 
Would have been erected a monument, bust or urn ; 
But a benefactress lies neglected, in fact spurned. 
I have the will, if I had the power. 
Why in the space of one short hour, 
One of mammoth proportions should arise. 



POEMS. 151 



Inscribed, "The Dishcloth Inventress, here she 

lies," 
And that she was as clean and good as she was wise. 
If dishcloths should annihilated be, 
What would g-ocxl housewives do without theni 

prithee? 
With all their dirty, greasy crockery. 
In a sorrowful plight indeed! Ah me! 
Your eyes are blue, your hair is light, 
May you raise the fallen and stand for the right. 
And all your days may you sweetly sing. 
"My dishcloths have been my most useful thing." 
These lines have run swiftly from my pen. 
Harmless is a little nonsense now and then ; 
Perhaps my pen might have been employed in a 

nobler strain, 
Alas most all earthly endeavors prove futile and 

vain. 

Patchogue, Dee. 4th, 1873 



152 POEMS 



LINKS WKirrKN ON KKCKIVIN*; AN AI'KON FROM MV 
NIECE, JESSIE BETSY SMIIH. 

Politicians may boast and statesmen spout, 

But the usefulness of an apron they know nothin^r 

about. 
Take avarice and pride out of some men 
Only a dark shadow remains of them. 
What have poets been thinking and scribbling about. 
That in all their writings the apron has been left 

out? 
Most assuredly they were fools, or half crazed, 
Not one imp of them, ever penned a word in its 

praise, 
It was not an oversight, they cannot me deceive. 
They were jealous because it was invented by Eve. 
Did Adam spurn aprons? No, without doubt 
Eve kept him in good aprons till he was worn out. 
He never would have possessed one, but for Eve. 
He never would have thought of sewing the leaves. 
Eve was charming, the original belle, 
In Eden she wove a wondrous spell. 
vShe was charming and fair to view, 
The serpent beguiled her and Adam proved untrue. 
The serpent came smiling, a lie on his tongue. 
Has been the father of lies since the world begun ; 
He came cringing and fawning to her on the sly. 
Saying, "eat dearest Eve. you shall not die," 



POEMS. 153 



Swift retribution came, he was driven to the wall: 

He and his posterity were doomed on their bellies 
to crawl. 

Eve was given a promise then and there 

That his head should be bruised by the heel of her 
heir. 

It was to a woman so charming- to view^ 

That God made the first promises to. 

Notwithstanding she was pure as the snow and fair 
to view% 

She had to contend with a man and the serpent too. 

Adam ate that apple with a right good will, 

The core stuck in his throat and it sticks in the 
throats of his posterity still. 

He was driven out of Eden on the crest of a turbu- 
lent wave 

And he never found rest till he was laid in his grave. 

It is hard for tnen to kick against the pricks; 

Eve had and aUvays will have the best end of the 
stick. 

Dear friend, do not listen to bigots and fools; 

God teaches lessons that are not taught in schools. 

Those that jeer at aprons had better have a care, 

For they were worn in Eden by the first mortal pair. 

Thanks for the one I have just received. 

I am nothing more or less than a daughter of Eve. 

I hope that when this w^orld is cleansed from sin 

That you and I will be permitted to enter in, 

And if Mother has two aprons to give. 

She wnll bestow one on Bet and the other on Lib. 

Patchogue, Nov. 30th, 1870. 



154 POEMS. 



AN OLD HKN. 

A prudent old hen has striven for 3''ears, 

Hoped against hope midst doubts and fears, 

To find some nook in the world so wide 

Where ill luck will not all her eggs betide. 

vShe lays as faultless eggs as ever were seen, 

Sometimes in the barn, sometimes on the green. 

Sometimes in the weeds, sometimes in the maize. 

But in vain she seeks for a hiding place. 

If she builds her nest under the cribs, 

Or under the porch where her master lives, 

She is hustled about in a sorrowful way. 

The more she strives to set the more she is kept at 

bay. 
Why don't she set? Her hinderers say, 
"We just as leave she would set as lay." 
Silently she listens to their oily speech? 
Knowing she would not have a roost or a head if 

she preached. 
Though impediments beset her of every kind, 
Setting is her theme, it enchains her mind. 
How can she accomplish setting, pray, 
When each day her eggs are stolen away? 
Conquer she must, for she perseveres, 
Looks aloft, sheds not a tear. 
Yields uncomplaining to the powers that be. 
And bides her time patiently. 
She is never seen out after dark, 
Rises each morning with the lark; 
She is worth her weight in gold I ween. 
For the good example she sets for men. 



POEMS. 155 



A wise man said that hope deferred 

Makes the heart sick; it is true every word. 

Nobly does she act her part, 

Though the clouds lower, faith props her heart. 

By perseverance, lo, what do we see ! 

'Tis the uncouth leaves of the mulberry tree, 

By perseverance at the appointed time, 

They are turned into silks of the costliest kind. 

Persevere old hen in foul or fair weather, 

God careth for thee, he numbereth thy feather; 

Sampson with the bone of an ass put ten thousand 

to flight ; 
There is nothing like perseverance when you know 

you are right ; 
Still persevere, your time will come 
And your chicks will number a goodly sum. 

Patchogue, August nth, 1876. 



156 POEMS 



(jCyiii rsAi.M. 
Sino- unto the Lord anew sono-, 
Sinu unto Him all the earth! 
For Zion when she travails 
Will renovate the earth. 

Show forth His salvation 

And sing from day to day; 

Extol the rock of ages 

That will never pass away. 

The idol Gods of nations 

Shall shortly pass away ; 

Declare His wonders to the heathen 

And all homage to Him pay. 

Honor and majesty are before Him, 
Tnne well your harps, your lamps well trim 
Let all glory and praises to Him be given, 
He is the Lord that made the Heavens. 

Give unto the Lord the glory due, 
His name is great, of Him Lll sing. 
And an offering for sin 
Lito his courts I will daily bring. 

Say unto the heathen the Lord doth reign, 
The world He will establish in His name ; 
It shall not be moved and all shall see 
That He will judge his people righteously. 

Then the heavens will rejoice 
And the earth will be glad ; 
Not one thing that then exists 
Will in anv wav be sad. 



POEMS. 157 



Let the sea roar and the fullness thereof, 
The fields be joyful and the woods rejoice ; 
For he will judge the earth with truth and right- 
eousness. 
And fill all hearts with perfect peace and bliss. 

Patchogue, June 6th, 1S74. 



AN EXPERIENCE 

Come in m\' child the air is damp, 

The wind it blows a gale ; 

Pray what are you gazing at. 

You look both wan and pale. 

"Tis strange that yonder silent star 

That illumes the western sky 

Should have the power to soothe my brain, 

And stop my long drawn sighs; 

But so it is my friend, 

It oft has cast a spell on me. 

And for hours I forget all care 

In a blissful reverie. 

My spirit seems to leave this clay. 

And wing and wing itself away. 

I don't know how, but I get there. 

Far, far away to that beautiful star; 

I enter the gate, it stands ajar, 

And John is waiting to welcome me in. 

He dwells there, is happy and free from sin. 

Mother is there too, she is not old ; 

How lovely she looks with that crown of gold ! 



158 POEMS. 

To-night she clasped me in her arms 
And I told her I was done with the world's alarms ; 
"Not so,' said she, "Betty my child, 
You cannot stay here but a little while. 
You must hie thee back to earth again ; 
You would not be happy could you remain. 
Your work is not finished, go back and do all 
That God bids you, great things or small." 
"Mother I cannot leave you or say good-bye, 
I wept on earth till the fountain of tears was dry." 
"Your return to earth again is needful my child, 
Strength will be given you to bear its ills awhile ; 
At the time appointed you shall return, 
Never again to sigh or motirn ; 
Mother and husband will w^atch and wait 
To give you an everlasting welcome at the Golden 
Gate." 

Patchogue, May 23rd. 1866. 






POEMS. 159 



FATHER S KP:(^UKST. 

When I have lived my alloted time 

And my spirit has returned to that peaceful clime, 

One request my friends, I ask of ye, 

Let my funeral from ostentation be free. 

What your loving hearts would prompt you to thus 

expend. 
Distribute among my needy friends. 
Do not annul the solemnity of death by show; 
My body came from the earth, to the earth it must go 
To be food for worms and moulder away, 
It is corruptable clay, nothing but clay; 
Nor have steeds caparisoned with flaunting plumes 
To convey me prancing to the silent tomb, 
Nor a hearse emblazoned with gilt and paint, 
Silver plated trappings gay and quaint. 
What is highly esteemed by mortal man, 
Is an abomination in the sight of the immortal 

great I Am. 

Patchogue, Feb. 24th, 1875. 



160 POEMS 



STOP THAT MILL — TO TL OREKLV, V.Sq. 

Mr. Editor, dear sir, is it true, 

Or only hearsay, 

Are the Yankees manufacturing- Smiths by steam? 

Are they really underway? 

If so they are shortsighted. 

Smiths everywhere are found, 

Their mill must at once be stopped 

Or there will not be standing ground. 

Do send that company word to stop 

Or they will most assuredly collapse. 

Our country is already over run 

With Smiths both white and black ; 

If they will not be advised, its soon they will bewail ; 

Their investments will not pay. 

Why Smiths are the most prolific tribe 

On earth in a natural way ! 

If they will try their luck at Bchurs 

I am sure they would do well, 

For in the city of churches 

Without discount its quickly they would sell. 

If they strike out on Bchurs 

One specialty do not forget. 

Let their memories be poor 

So if they are accused they cannot recollect ; 

And their consciences be tough. 

If the truth they will not remember. 

Faster in Brooklyn they would sell 

Than coals in cold December. 

Give them hearts to love and feel 

True inwardness within, 



POEMS. 161 



And to embrace another's wife 

Is not a carnal sin ; 

Also a mind in summer time, 

A bird's nesting to roam. 

With some angelic sister of the church 

And leave their wives at home. 

I hope that company will take heed 

And comply with your advice, 

For Bchurs are scarce and 

Will bring a good price. 

If they refuse, one thing I know 

They will soon say, dear father we feel so so. 

The Smiths are a heterogeneous set, 

Not dearly bought or far fetched ; 

Will germinate and grow in any clime. 

There is nothing in a Smith oratorical or sublime. 

Most Smiths and Bchurs, be it said to their shame. 

Live too long, because they outlive a good name, 

Patchogue, May 22d, 18S7, 



162 POEMS 



TRirill. 

Truth how glorious thou art! 

Though despised in worldly marts, 

The wise at a glance can see 

All that is pure centers in thee. 

Yes thou art lovely, surpassing fair. 

And thou dost breathe immortal air. 

A mortal needs no stronger tower. 

For thou wilt outlive the dying hour; 

And thy source will never run dry, 

The great eternal is thy supply. 

Those that buy of thee and sell it not 

Are beloved of God and never forgot. 

When the stars, moon and sun have run their race. 

Thou wilt move with the same grand noble grace. 

Ail those that strove to annihilate thee 

Shall be trodden under the feet of those that fol- 
low thee. 

Thou art beautiful, par-excellent. 

Filled with thee there is no discontent, 

Without thee every evil plan is laid. 

Men devoid of thee are cowards that the world call 
brave. 

How oft have they bruised and trailed thee in the 
dust ! 

But thou wilt survive them all for thou art just. 

If thy presence grace the lowliest cot, 

The breast that holds thee for its guest 

Is supremely and divinely blest. 



POEMS. 163 



Weighed in the balance they will know no fear 

Truth will not be found wanting put in for a share. 

All thy attributes are glorious to behold; 

Thou dost eclipse all gems, silver or gold, 

All is a void that is lacking in truth, 

'Tis a pavilion for the aged and an armor for the 

youth. 
It's favor is gained by obedience. 
Those that possess it have a sure defence, 
When truth shall renovate this terrestrial ball, 
Truth audits followers will stand undismayed, un- 

appalled. 

Patchogue, Sept. 12th, iS(j3. 



164 POEMS 



DEDICATED TO THE WIDOW OE NELSON SMiril, 



A fire for two days and nio-hts 

Had been raging in the woods. 

And on the margin of some 'timberland 

A widow's humble cottage stood. 

The wind was high and blew 

The sparks madly through the air, 

Floating and dropping them along, 

Here, there and everywhere. 

The flames went roaring through the trees- 

The shrubs and leaves were dry. 

For weeks no rain cloud had overspread 

The scorching sun in yonder vaulted sky. 

Like unto a hungry lion it sped, 

Chasing a wild deer for its prey ; 

Turning not aside for any 

It kept'a hundred men at bay. 

The men had done all that they could do 

And had proved the old adage true, 

That fire a good servant is 

Until it masters you. 

The clouds of smoke obscured the sun 

And dimmed the light of day. 

And the flames and glare at night 

Were seen some fifty miles away. 

For forty hours the men had striven 

To put the demon down. 



POEMS. 165 



And recruits arrived each day 

From the adjacent towns. 

Some men drinking from a stream, 

That ran purling- from the woods 

And to the leeward about a half mile off. 

Saw where the lonely cottage stood ; 

And that it would be a certain prey 

To the fierce fire as it passed that way , 

And that the widow's home was doomed with 

Barns and stacks of grain and hay. 

"Let us be quick and hasten over there 

And lend a helping hand !" 

That we must and will," said each one 

As they jumped the brook and ran. 

When she saw the men were coming 

She walked as stately as a Queen 

Until she reached the hillside 

Where the grass was short and green. 

As they approached her they heard 

That she was singing low and sweetly, 

"Rock of Ages cleft for me 

Let me hide myself in thee." 

One man said he guessed that, 

Affrighted, she had lost her mind ; 

But she bowed and smiling told the men 

That they were very kind, 

Coming there to help her 

In such a trying time. 

They told her to hurry up 

And bundle her choicest things, 

And they would carry them down the hill 

To yonder little bubbling spring. 



166 POEMS 



She smiled and said so calmly, 

•■I shall not move out to-day. 

Please remain quiet for a little while. 

For I feel that I must pray." 

Down on her knees she went, 

Humbly upon the grass and sod, 

And talked as friend talks with friend 

As she wrestled there with God. 

She bad faith in lively exercise. 

Believed in a faithful Lord, 

Did not cavil wnth doubts and fears, 

Simply took God at his word, 

Prayed ;that God would change the wind 

And give the elements a rout. 

And to send a copious shower 

To rain the fire out. 

The wind it lulled as she prayed, 

And then it veered around, 

And the dismal roaring of the fire 

Grew fainter in its sound. 

The thunder rolled, the lightning flashed. 

Great drops of rain came down. 

The men as they listened looked aghast. 

As they stood silently around. 

Having pronounced the final Amen, 

She said, rising to her feet, 

•'Come all of you into the house 

There you may rest and eat " 

Quickly the table she spread. 

Setting on fruit, bread and meat. 

She thanked the Lord and then the men. 

And said, "sit ye dowm my friends and eat. 



POEMS. 167 



For half an hour the rain came down, 

In torrents fast and strong, 

And when the clouds were passed away 

The fire was dead and gone. 

Looking out upon the field she said, 

''Thanks kind friends and good bye, 

For I must go and spread some fiax 

Out in the sun to bleach and dry." 

The men partook of that frugal fare, 

Past were alarms and fears, 

But from their eyes, unused to them, 

Dropped many a silent tear. 

One man said he knew that woman's 

Prayer was pleasing unto God. 

' 'Did you see that halo around her head 

While she knelt on the ground we trod ?" 

"I was conscious stricken" one man said, 

"As I was standing there quite near 

I heard every word she said, 

I could not help but hear. 

I had been cursing, swearing and perspiring 

For two whole nights and days, 

Cutting down trees and shoveling sand, 

But I never thought to pray. 

Some sentences that she uttered 

I could not quite understand, 

But I knew the tears were dropping 

On my dirty begrimmed hands. 

I did not believe in praying 

Nor in a prayer answering Lord, 

But never again will I speak 

Another blasphemous word." 



168 POEMS. 



"I thought of mother," a hardened sinner said, 

"Although she has been dead so long, 

That was the very hymn she used to sing, 

That good old Rock of Ages song. 

Until to-day, tears have been strangers 

To my eyes for over forty years ; 

Then they fell in silence on mother's grave 

As I stood by the empty bier," 

When the men left the cottage 

It is true that they walked slow. 

For they heard the widow sweetly singing, 

"Praise God from whom all blessings flow." 

Patchogue, July 28th, 1895.. 



AN ORPHAN .S PRAYER. 

These clouds they do bespeak a storm, 

Alas, I have no home ! 

Is there another orphan on this earth, 

vSo destitute and lone ? 

Father and mother, both are dead ; 

Oh, why did I them outlive ! 

The God that orders all things well, 

Can best an answer give. 

Oh listen, while I plead, 

And help me in this hour of need ! 

Forgive what I have done amiss, 

Give succor, dear Lord, for I am fatherless ! 

I do most humbly thee implore. 

To open to me some unseen door : 

Thou numberest the hairs of my head ; 



POEMS. 169 



God, I look to thee for bread ! 

1 claim the promise that's on thy Book, 
Oh Lord, in pity on me look! 

For I am in sore distress; 

The lillies, they are clothed by thee, 

Ravens too, by thee are fed ; 

Oh God, thou knowest that I am fatherless. 

Oh, give me my daily bread! 



GERANIUM. 

Oh cruel frost with thy ruthless hand, 

Thou hast slain my long cherished geranium ! 

Long have I watched its tender growth 

And joyed as each new shoot put forth. 

How oft at early morn, again at dewy eve. 

With water have I sprinklad thy tender leaves? 

I had hoped to see thee thrive and bloom. 

And with thy fragrance fill my room. 

Thy blooming time was near at hand, 

I had patiently waited to see thy bud expand ; 

Had I doted on thee less, 

Thy loss could not me so oppress. 

Now to see thee hang thy head. 

Each little leaf shows thou art dead. 

Tears unbidden, they do start. 

And faster beats my sorrowing heart. 

Thou art not the first that J have loved and 

mourned, 
All that I have ever loved has from m.e been torn ; 
All that I have had to cheer iny home, 



170 POEMS 



Cruel death has claimed it for his own. 

Farewell my cherished pet I 

Thy death has cancelled nature's debt, 

Though inanimate, thou dost excel mankind. 

By leaving an unsullied name behind. 

Farewell my pet plant, farewell ! 

Long green on my memory thou shalt dwell ; 

I hope that when death comes for me. 

It will find me pure and sinless like unto thee. 

Patchogue, Jan. 26, 1S69. 



A SOLILOQUY. 

I have wandered far and near 

In hope's your name I ne'er would hear; 

I tried to break the spell 

By doing what St. Paul said to do was well ; 

I sought the solace of the church and I hope to be 

forgiven. 
For thinking more about you than I did about 

heaven ; 
Why you are permitted I cannot say, 
Thus to pursue me night and day ; 
I never have traveled a single mile. 
But what your spirit went with me the while ; 
Then I resort to some lonely place. 
Noiselessly you come with a smiling face ; 
Or if things go wrong and I feel blue 
I'll hear you singing "Bonnie Doon;" 
When all is well and I am full of glee, 
My thoughts, unbidden, revert to thee; 



POEMS. 171 



If a gallant gives me a toast. 

Before my eyes you come like an injured ghost; 

Tis' passing strange that when I pray 

Though I am far from you away, 

vShould think of you and ask that we 

In heaven may spend eternity ; 

I have often wished that you were dead. 

But I never meant the words I said, 

For any time in sixteen years 

Had I heard that you were dead I'd been in tears! 

It is no use for me to prate, 

The tenderest chord of my heart will for you 

vibrate ; 
Every word of this is true. 
But nobody will believe it, no not even you. 

Patchogue. Oct. 26, 18S6. 



HONOR GOD: TO MY NEPHEW, GARDNER C. G. SMPIH. 

You may have w^orldly wisdom. 

And fortune may smile on you, 

But, if you do not honor God, 

He will not honor you, 

You may be named a millionaire 

And men may couch and flatter you. 

But, if you do not honor God, 

He will not honor you. 

You may be a church member 

And may purchase the highest pew, 

But if you do not honor God, 

He will not honor vou. 



172 POEMS 



You may sit there in rich attire 

And doze the church services through 

But, if you do not honor God, 

He will not honor you. 

The prayer checks that you present 

He will not cash for you, 

Jnless you do honor God 

He will not honor you. 

You may sit upon a throne 

And an empire may cringe to you. 

But if you do not honor God, 

He will not honor you. 

Thy heart a tenth of thy income 

Is all He asks of thee ; 

By giving them thou wilt honor Him, 

And He will honor thee. 

Paichogue, June 4, 1884 



NONE GOOD. 

Go search in all the earth, 

Let him that readeth run. 

And number all the faithful— 

The God fearing ones, 

That do give him all the heart. 

And a tenth of all their income. 

Search diligently every nook and corner. 

Leave not a stone unturned. 

To find a perfect mortal 

That dwells beneath the sun. 

At length his task is finished, 



POEMS. 173 



With out-spread hands he eomes — 
Hehold ! His fingers are the number 
Of the faithftil ones. 
That do give God all the heart 
And a tenth of all their ineome. 
He searched, but searched in vain — 
For the perfect sinless ones. 
There was not any to be found — 
None, no, not one. 

Patchogue, August 2S, 1894. 



A scullion, in the kitchen of a palace, that 
Thanks God for fragments of meat and bread, 
Is greater than an ungrateful emperor that eats 
Like unto a swine, when by its herder fed. 

The blackest blackleg that walks this earth, 
Though steeped through and through in practices 

of sin, 
Without repentance, will get a cooler berth in Hell 
Than a lustful minister that virtue dwells not in. 

The poor blind man, that begs from door to door. 

Led by a faithful little dog and string. 

If God's law is written in his heart, 

Will out shine in glory all doublehearted kings. 

Patchogue, May 2nd, 1S92. 



174 POEMS. 



TRIBUTE TO MAJOR AND MRS. LAWREXc:^ IIODSON 
T HO MP. SON. 



Dear friend.s, oratitude constrains me, 

And I hasten to say, 

That I am grateful to you 

For this lovely boquet. 

Some sainted spirit 

Influenced you I know 

To send it to me, a lowly widow, 

God saw what you did, 

His sight is not confined. 

It was a kind act. 

In deed it. was kind. 

These flowers are real ; about them 

There is no deceit or disguise ; 

They came unlooked for, but 

Were a pleasant surprise. 

Dear friends, in a few words 

I will tell you true. 

The only birthday present I received 

Came from you. 

These sweet, sweet flowers with 

So much fragrance fraught. 

Surely they must be some of 

The Creator's beautiful thoughts. 

He plants and watches over them 

And causes them to grow. 

From the cold Arctic regions 

To the Antarctic snows. 

He gives to everyone its 



POEMS. 175 



Color, shape and hue. 

And sprinkles them at night 

With his sparkling dews; 

He cares for their good 

In many and various ways ; 

Warms them day by day 

With the genial sun's bright rays. 

They are not unmindful 

Of the blessings he bestows, 

But with one accord they are 

All united and aglow, 

Sending sweet perfumed incense 

Upwards through the air 

To thank Him for His fatherly, 

Unceasing, tender care. 

God scattered beautiful flowers, 

With a lavish and bountiful hand. 

To cheer and gladden the heart 

Of sinful, mortal man. 

On the hillocks and the roadside, 

On the meadows, in the ditches, 

As many for the poor peasantry, 

As for the Lordling's rich. 

If you wish to see all the varieties 

That are to be found 

You must needs traverse this earth 

All the way around. 

On the vast prairie, where buffalos 

Roam and luxuriously feed, 

Fair are the flowers that grow 

Amongst the tall grass and weeds. 



176 POEMS 



In the jungle where savages 

And wild beasts prey and roam, 

Spontaneously they thrive and grow, 

In their forest home . 

Thev blo'om in the caves and dens 

Where the tigers and lions sleep — 

Sinless they know no fear 

Therefore no vigils have they to keep. 

They are to be found in 

Almost every place — 

On the lofty mountain's sides 

And in the valleys and at its base. 

Take posey out of poetry 

Its backbone would extracted be ; 

Poetry eminates from the 

Imperfect mind of man — 

Flowers pure and sinless from 

The immaculate eternal hand. 

If earthly flowers, that 

.So soon fade and die, 

Can cheer our hearts 

And delight our eyes. 

How glorious must those 

Never fading flowers be 

That thrive and bloom throughout 

A never ending eternity. 

There no mourners weeping 

Go sighing about those streets 

With untold grief in their hearts, 

And aching tired feet. 

Those that were faithful in tribulation 



POEMS. 177 



Shall there be housed and blest, 

The wicked will cease from troubling 

And the weary be at rest ; 

There the blind shall see 

And the dumb shall speak, 

The old will be young 

And the lame shall leap: 

There the disconsolate will 

Overflow with endless joy, 

Nothing to disturb or molest, 

Evil cannot them annoy. 

If we would be safely 

With his children housed. 

When he shall come 

To claim his spouse, 

We must listen to the monitor 

He placed within our breasts, 

And live pure lives whilst here 

If we would enter into his eternal rest, 

The light will be mild, soft and soothing 

And there will be no night there ; 

We shall have perfect, immortal eyes 

And a subdued light without glare. 

When Christs new Kingdom is begun 

There will be no need of candlelight. 

Nor of the stars, moon or sun — 

God will be the Luminator 

Of eternity's endless day, 

And his loving smiles will 

Forever drive darkness away. 

There peace, not war, will 



178 P o fi: M s 



Dwell in the mountains, 
And love, not hate, shall 
Flow from the fountains. 
(to(1 watehes over his children here 
And remembers them for ^ood : 
Soon they will be His honored guests 
And served with angels' food. 
On the highway called Holiness 
The saints shall promenade ; 
The vultuies' eye has not it seen 
Nor the lion's whelps a footprint made 
By that highway the ransomed 
Of the Lord shall come, 
Singing and rejoicing that 
They are safe at home- 
Hosannas and Hallelujahs will 
Burst forth from great and small, 
To Him that redeemed them from 
The curse of Adam's direful fall. 
Marching on the walls of Zion 
Triumphantly they will sing- 
To Him that cleansed the earth 
And reigns the King of Kings. 
When His Kingdom shall come, 
Every kindred, tribe and tongue 
Shall bow to His mild septer. 
And His will shall be done 
There by both old and young. 
And on the high battlements of glory, 
The eternal jubilee song will be sung. 
In the spirit land our bodies will be light 



POEMS. 179 



On a footing- with the angels 

"VVe will wing the realms of light. 

The aeolian harps of earth 

Can only please the mortal ear, 

But the golden harps above have 

Power to cast out every fear. 

Friendships, that on earth 

Were so rudely broken, 

Shall be cemented there 

By love's everlasting token. 

God grant, dear friends, that we 

May, in those beautiful bovvers, 

With immortal eyes behold 

His beautiful thoughts, the flowers. 

Patchogue, March 22, 1894. 



180 POEMS 



•rilK (IlAk'IKR MEMUKKS OF THK FIRST COSC.KECA- 

rioNAL ciiucn, A'l" i'A'icH()(;uF, 1/94. 

DEDICATED TO CAI'TAIN liliADI.EY .SKI.I.KCK SMlllI. 

In seventeen hundred and ninety-four 

A drought hovered over this Isle, 

And for nine weeks no "rain 

Had caused the fields to smile. 

It commenced in May, 

And ended the last of July. 

The wells gave out and the brooks — 

Their beds were hard and dry ; 

The cattle would slowly wend their way 

To the accustomed place to drink ; 

It was pitiful to hear them low 

Upon the dry river's brink 

The liocks that grazed the hillsides, 

Hungry into the valleys ran. 

Lowing loudly unto God for grass. 

They sought it in vain from man ; 

For water, they were driven to the ponds. 

Farmers cut down the waited corn 

And gave it to them for fodder, 

Their lives to prolong. 

There was but one church in Patchogue, 

A Congregational one by name, 

And the officiating clergyman 

Was the Rev. Robert Currain. 

He was a staunch old Puritan — 

Could do a sermon in two hours. 

And could trace his pedigree 



POEMS. 181 



Rack to the British ship Mayflower. 

It was some of his Puritanical forefatliers, 

Tis true, but horrid to relate, 

That pronounced some old ladies witches, 

Bound and burnt them at a stake. 

There was no fanaticism in his prayers 

So the deacons could rest and sleep, 

For they knew that changeless Currain 

Would in the old ruts keep. 

He prayed eight consecutive Sabbath days 

That God would send some rain. 

But there was no fervency in his prayer. 

Therefore he prayed in vain. 

On the ninth Sabbath morning he spake 

Out rather sharp and plain — 

Told the deacons that thev must bestir themselves 

And help him pray for rain. 

He was a strict Sabbathtarian, 

Denounced all work or play on Sunday ; 

If you wished to smile or sneeze 

You must perform those feats on Monday. 

"Come here to-morrow afternoon," he said, 

"Precisely at two o'clock; 

Then the women svill be permitted to pray 

That belong unto this flock." 

Deacon Baker had a pious wife ; 

Her brains were in a noble head. 

And in her heart dwelt living faith ; 

You could rely on what she said. 

Phoebus rose at half past four. 

It was half past seven before it retired, 



182 POEMS 



And for fifteen hours each day 

Its scorching rays were as pitilests as fire. 

Aunt Rebecca had no hypocriticial propensities; 

vShe would not shake hands with the devil ; 

Has no room for unbelief, or time to with it cavil. 

Monday came, it was very hot and dry, 

And the deacon looked decidedly blue ; 

Said that the cattle were dying in the fields. 

And wished that he was dead to. 

Aunt Rebecca rose at early dawn 

And began the day with secret prayer; 

Quietly washed and dressed her.suif. 

And brushed her auburn hair. 

She tucked her sleeves above the elbows 

And then to work she went. 

Determined to have it done by noon. 

The prayer-meeting — on it her mind was bent ; 

At half past one o'clock she started 

And took her large cotton umbrella, 

And, hurrying along the road to church, 

She met the deacon, Jacob Bell. 

He said, '"good afternoon Aunt Rebecca; 

I hope that you are well ; 

Pray what are you going to do 

With that great heavy umbrella?" 

"You had better fetched yours along." 

She .said, "for I .shall pray for rain; 

Implicit faith will bring the blcs.sing down — 

1 shall not pray in vain." 

The deacon laughingly said to her. 



POEMS. 183 



"There is no indications of rain to-day, 

Not a cloud to be seen an}^ where. 

And the wind is not the right way ; 

Currain and I have prayed for weeks, 

The mystery we cannot exphiin ; 

There's been no answer to our prayers. 

The drought, it still remains." 

"Deacon you see that in going to church 

I have used this umbrella as a cane, 

But when I leave the church I .shall use it 

To shield me from the rain," 

She reached the church in ample time, 

And the truth to tell, 

She was the only one there 

That carried an umbrella. 

Meeting commenced with a long meter hymn, 

Currain made a long, wordy prayer; 

It was sweltering hot in the church, 

And oppressive was the air. 

The women took their sunbonnets off 

And used them as a fan : 

The deacons soon began to nod, 

As only deacons can. 

Currain asked brother Jones to pray 

And he prayed nearly a half hour, 

But he forgot to ask for rain 

Or a refreshing shower. 

Then brother Green said "it was the duty of all 

To pray, and guessed he might as well." 

But whether he prayed for rain or not 

None present were able to tell. 



184 POEMS. 



HivS words were indistinct and low, 

Betwixt each sentence a long pause, 

And his holding out for half an hour 

Was trying to natural laws. 

Some said that Currain was fast asleep 

When Green left off praying; 

Doubtless he nodded to keep the flies at bay. 

And the heat was overwhelming. 

Hovvsomever, he brightened up, saying. 

That he wished with all his heart. 

That some of the women folks would 

Now in the meeting take an active part. 

Silence for a few moments reigned ; 

Then Aunt Rebecca knelt to pray. 

Faith cleared the track of all obstacles. 

Upwards her petition wended its way : 

•■Help mighty God," she said, 

"For vain is the help of man ; 

Forgive our sins, blot our transgressions out 

Our lives are in Thy hands; 

When Thy hand is closed my Father, 

How dreary is this earth I 

Open it now, I beseech Thee, 

Let thy life and joy spring forth ; 

Our cattle are starving in the fields; 

The springs and rills are dry ; 

Soften our strong, ungrateful hearts 

And with penitential tears bedew our eyes. 

Send thy Holy Spirit down. 

Drive all unbelief away; 

Cause ail to forsake their sins. 



POEMS. * 135 



And for Thy pardoning mercy pray. 

Thou doist hear the hungry cattle low. 

And the bleating of the kine. 

They have not transgressed Thy law, 

'Tis the ungrateful tribe of humankind — 

Our sins like mountains have reached the clouds 

Pardon us, Thou God of mercy and love, 

Let Th}' kingdom come, and Thy will be done, 

In earth as it is in heaven above. 

Thou hast promised to supply our needs. 

Implicitly in Thee is my trust. 

Cause the much needed rain to descend 

Upon the just and the unjust. 

A famine is staring us in the face. 

Forgive and make bare Thy mighty arm ; 

Thou alone can avert the dire calamity 

And shi-eld us from impending harm. 

Strip lis of all guile and self-righteousness. 

All hypocrisy and all self-sufficiency. 

Help us to love Thee more and this world less. 

And prove that we do fear and honor Thee. 

Restrain Thy wrath, 1 implore, 

For the sake of those that do fear Thy name. 

Cause the woods and fields again to rejoice ; 

Send us, O, do send us a copious rain ! 

Thou great eternal spirit. 

Thy abode is everywhere 

And thou hast promised to hear 

And answer a believer's prayer. 

Refres'h us from on high, my Father. 

With the much needed rain. 



186 • POEMS 



Giving does not impoverish nor withholding enrich 

Thee— 
Blessed forever be thv name. 
I know the mountains may depart 
And the hills Ije removed out of place. 
But behind thy frowning Proxidence, 
Faith scans thy smiling face. 
Dear Lord, my hand is clasped in thine, 
Though we deserve to starve, die and decay, 
Do change the wind and send rain clouds — • 
Thou wilt not say me]|nay! 

Here on bended knee I have paid to thee my vows 
And asked that thou wilt rain bestow; 
Slay me if it will thv wrath appease, 
I will not let Thee go." 

Evervone was sorrv when Aunt Rebecca stopped. 
All had been listening so intently 
They would have heard a pin. 
Had one happened to have dropped. 
The wind changed while-she was praying, 
A cool breeze through the windows came, 
And distant thunder proclaimed 
That God was sending rain. 
Soon thick black clouds like a pall 
Overspread the lofty skies; 
Outside the church rain came pouring down ; 
In it, tears streamed from every eye. 
Aunt Hester Smith shouted, ''Glory 
To the faithful, unchanging Lord 
That always does acquit himself gloriously. 
When taken at his word I" 



POEMS. 187 



Then Aunt Deborah Bell commenced singino-, 

*'Joy to the world the Saviour reigns. 

Let men their songs employ. 

While lields, and floods, rooks, hills and plains 

Repeat the sounding joy." 

Then Mr. Currain said he hoped 

That all who feared the Lord 

Would renew their covenants 

And live according to his word. 

Brother Humphrey Avery said that he felt 

Like the old apostle Paul — 

•'That if he was a Christian 

He was the least of all." 

But said, by the assistance of divine grace, 

That in his heart (rod should bear sway, 

So that they would not meet as strangers 

In the great raising day. 

Then Ebenezer Ackerly sang, 

"Faith is the polar star 

That guides the Christian's way. 

Diverts his wanderings frcMu afar 

To realms of endless day; 

It points the course where'er he roam 

And safely leads the pilgrim home " 

Ebenezer was a man that feared, 

Honored and obeyed the Lord. 

His faith was stronger than the mountains; 

It was founded in (xod's word; 

Resurrection power was in his soul. 

He prayed for Christ to come 

And remove the curse from the earth 



188 POEMS 



And take His exiles home. 

He followed hard after God, 

And God watched over him. 

His faith was pleasing unto the Lord ; 

He w^alked, talked and often supped with him; 

He sang, "Faith is the rainbow's form 

Hung on the brow of heaven. 

The glory of the passing storm, 

The pledge of mercy given ; 

It is the bright, triumphal arch 

Through which the saints to glory march." 

Then Ananias Smith stood up, 

A man of goodly parts. 

He honored and obeyed the great I Am, 

(rod's law was written in his heart. 

The devil hated Ananias 

And the Tories hated him too. 

He gave battle to them both, 

His weaDons were strong and true ; 

He thwarted all their malicious thrusts 

And by God's help grew bolder. 

He was very zealous for the Lord, 

For he was a valiant soldier. 

He boasted not when he put his armor on, 

But there was defiance in his eyes 

That bespoke a determination to overcome the 

World and self, or in the conflict die. 

He persevered, and fainted not. 

It was many years before the Messenger came 

And said, "Well done, Ananias, there is rest 

For thee; thou hast not wrought in vain. 



POEMS. 189 



Triumph and boast, and put thy armor down, 

For thou art bidden to come up hig-her and receive 

The conqueror's palms and the victor's crown," 

He believed in future rewards and punishments, 

A heaven and a hell, 

And that God ruled in the heavens 

And the devil ruled in hell. 

He fought for truth and his country 

Faithfully, And it came to pass 

That every Tory in Suffolk county 

Hated the patriotic Ananias. 

lie had a lion skin coat. 

Which none of them had, 

And it was on his back when it was 

Riddled wath the" best of British shot. 

A British ship, stationed at Bluepoint. 

Of his dwelling made a target. 

But wasted its balls and shot 

For none of them took effect 

This house stood on the bluff, 

Near Swan River, by the bay. 

And it is a most delightful site; 

The Cliffton Hotel stands there to-day. 

"vSome of the balls passed over my house 

And others fell short," said he; 

"One that went whizzing over it 

Demolished a towering Bellpear tree." 

He took his life and musket in his hands 

And fought to free his country. 

One of his great grandchildren has the ball 

That demolished the Bellpear tree. 



190 POEMS 

He was well versed in scripture 

And made a fervent, effectual prayer; 

Thanked God for listening to and 

Answering Aunt Rebecca's praN^er; 

Thanked him for preserving all their lives. 

And for sending a refreshing glorious rain, 

And for all the Mothers in Israel 

That feared the Lord and the church sustained 

Prayed that all might be by grace enabled, 

In God's sight, to have clean hands, 

And a pure heart, prompting them 

To keep inviolate the seventh command; 

That all might maintain their integrity 

And live for that great day, 

For which all other days were ma'de, 

By shunning sin of every hue, in every way. 

"Be ye holy," God hath said, 

"Without holiness none shall see his face." 

Help us to honor and obey Thee 

And revive thy kind embrace." 

'•Glory to thee my God, 

I 'will thy goodness tell. 

For thou hast ransomed me 

And saved my soul from hell. 

The heavens are thy throne. 

Thy footstool is the earth, 

Praises and thanks, for thou hast cared for me. 

Fed and clothed me from my birth. 

We know that thou art a jealous, loving God, 

And will not receive a part; 

When thou hast said, son, daughter. 



POEMS. 191 



Oive me thy whole undivided heart ; 

If we would live long, 

And thy great salvation see, 

We must be strangers to all fear, 

Save that of offending Thee. 

We were unmindful of Thy mereies 

And thou wast justly wroth with us; 

May we humble ourselves as in the dust. 

Father: I streteh my hands to Thee. 

And ask thee wnth bowed knees and head 

That thou wilt give us a part in the first resurrec- 

ti'Hi. 
When thou shalt come to raise the dead. 
Order our steps and bridle our tongues 
Give us wisdom, for thou the fountain art. 
And faith that sweetly works by love 
And purifies the heart. 
Father into thy hands I commend myself 
And this dying congregation ; 
Grant that it may be well with us 
When Thou shalt come to judge the nations." 
Then the pious Abigail Smith sang, 
"Come Holy Spirit, heavenly Dove, 
With all Thy quickening powers ; 
Kindle a flame of sacred love 
In these cold hearts of ours." 
The rain was pouring down outside the church 
And the air was getting colder; 
Inside cold hearts were getting full of fire, 
In the breasts of the re-enlisted soldiers. 
William vSmith said that he hoped 



192 POEMS 



All would be brought to see 

The necessity of living pure lives 

And maintaining their fidelity. 

That God would not look upon sins 

With the least degree of allowance, 

And for sins committed willfully 

There was no excuse to advance. 

The unrighteous man must forsake his thought, 

And the wicked from doing wickedly, 

If they would walk safely all their days 

And God's salvation see. 

He has commanded us to touch ncit, 

Handle not, the unclean thing, 

And when we C(mie into his storehouse 

Our tithes along with us to bring. 

And hold onto God's everlasting promises. 

Be firm, fervent and steadfast; 

Then we will overcome the world 

And triumph with him at last. 

Then i\unt Mary Smith sweetly sang, 

"Come ye that fear the Lord 

And love Him while ye fear; 

Come, and with heart and hand record 

Your vow and covenant here." 

Aunt Lizzie Hedges boldly declared 

That there was none greater on the earth 

Than those that feared the Lord. 

Obedience was more pleasing than sacrifice. 

"It is so written in His Word, 

Without faith you cannot please the Lord : 

Without holiness you cannot see his face ; 



POEMS. 193 



Without a contrite heart and pure life 

You^cannot enter that holy, happ}^ place. 

Once when things looked dreary and uncertain 

I was down-hearted and the woodpile was low ; 

Night had spread its sable curtain, 

And the clouds were dropping snow, 

I sat and thought about the great Eternal Three. 

And watched the smouldering brands. 

And felt that God would have regard unto 

The work of his own hands. 

I repeated some of his precious promises 

And I believed them every one, 

r\nd felt assured He would succor me — 

That deliverance was sure to come. 

Next morning it was cold and clear 

And I made a little fire ; 

Then I knelt beside a chair 

And asked God to make my woodpile higher. 

I wept, for I felt so unworthy; 

I knew that God, my God, had never me forgot; 

Only the day before I had felt dissatisfied 

And unthankful with my dreary, lonely lot. 

God told his servant, Phineas Robinson, 

That he would surely get his reward 

If he took a load of wood to Lizzie Hedges — 

He would be lending it to the Lord. 

I had preaared a frugal meal 

And was about to break my fast 

When I heard a wagon coming — 

It stopped at the woodpile, it did not go past, 

Thanks and praises to our God 



194 - POEMS. 



His Lord will stand forever; 

He is just the same to-day he ever was, 

Change He will not, no never! 

Then Jacob Baker sang, 

"From every stormy wind that blows. 

From every sw^elling tide of woes, 

There is a calm a sure retreat ; 

'Tis found beneath the mercy seat."' 

And he that knows the worth of prayer 

Wishes to be found oft'ner there. 

Then Jacob Bell spoke, saying, "The fool 

Hath said in his heart there is no God" — 

"A God, a God," creation shouts 

"A God," each insect cries, 

•"He moulded in his palms the earth 

And hung it in the skies" 

"Were every spear of grass a quill 

And ever}^ man a scribe by trade. 

To write the love of God to man 

Would drain the ocean dry. 

Nor could a scroll contain the whole. 

Though stretched from sky to sky. 

Then Daniel Smith said that the stones 

Would cry out if he held his peace. 

Said that on God and his promises 

He had taken a life long lease. 

He thanked God for the Mothers in Israel 

And he loved to hear them pray. 

"Rather hear one woman pray that feared 

The Lord than ten men any day." 

Said that he loved his earthlv father 



POEMS- 195 



And Hannah, his pious, faithful wife. 
But knew he loved his mother best — 
Could not help it to save his life. 
"She taught me to pray and fear the Lord 
And she loved me unto death; 
Heaven without her will not be Heaven fen* me ; 
I cried for her as soon as I drew m}' breath. 
Christ knows just how J feel 
For he too loved his mother, 
And gave a solemn charge concerning her. 
To John, his faithful beloved brother. 
Jesus loved her and the women folks 
For they ministered unto him, 
And they were his blood relations; 
They are his next of kin. 
The great Eternal was His father. 
The blood of the Blessed Mary flows in his veins; 
Between Jesus and woman there is a close affinity 
He died for man and by man he was slain. 
I am working and striving to reach Heaven : 
I want to see His mother and to see mine, 
And to spend eternity with them and others 
In that peaceful, happy, unclouded clime. 
Then Humphrey Avery sang, 
"All hail the power of Jesus' name, 
Let angels prostrate fall ; 
Bring forth the royal diadem 
And crown him Lord of all." 
The clouds had bestowed the much needed rain 
And the sun was smiling and getting low; 



196 POEMS 



The faithful (xod remembered his covenant with 
man 

And on view he placed the promised rainbow. 

When Currain was pronouncing the benediction 

A little boy shouted, "look there is a rainbow I" 

The congregation did not wait for Currain to get 
through, 

But began singing, "Praise God from whom all 
blessings flow." 

Currain opened his eyes and began to laugh, 

And he joined in the singing to. 

Somehow that afternoon he lost forever 

Some of his Puritanical views. 

Aunt Rebecca said she did not know the reason. 

And had been unable to exactly tell, 

Why, going home, Jacob and the Deacon walked so 
close to her. 

Unless it was to have her shield them with her um- 
brella. 

Patchogue, Sept. 22d, 1894 



